Pains in the Heart
by Lyggy
Summary: AU: Éowyn promises to wait for Aragorn when he marches off to the Morannon, but will he return at all...? .:Change of plot-see Chap 30:.
1. The Beginning

~@-/Pains in the Heart\-@~  
  
I don't own the characters, just the plot. This partially based on Egleriel's excellent 'Éowyn Nimbeinaith' so kudos Egleriel!  
  
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He had given her healing in body, and that was a greater gift than he knew; for to a woman such as Éowyn, the body is the only part of the self worth healing.  
  
Éowyn had been wounded by the Lord of the Nazgûl - almost to the death - but she would have preferred death to this anguished purgatory of patience. Seven days had now passed since the departure of the Lords of the West; the King was returned and immediately left for war. Éowyn remembered it well...  
  
--+-- F L A S H B A C K --+--  
  
"Lady," he said, the night ere he left Minas Tirith, "I come to you in gravest sincerity, for no longer can I lie to my heart."  
  
"My lord?" Éowyn was uncertain. This could lead to her rejection or - or what? Aragorn paced around the room.  
  
"As I stand here, I am betrothed to an elf," Éowyn's heart began to disintegrate, "but within the day my messenger will reach Rivendell. I will turn her down."  
  
Éowyn could barely find anything to say except, "My lord, I do not understand."  
  
Aragorn stopped pacing. With a deep breath, he said, "I am not Beren. I see that when I am near you, it gives you hope and happiness... when I am with her I bring a quiet sadness; she would give up her immortality for me and I cannot let her do that. Her father fostered me, and would not have her marry any Man less than the King of the Reunited Kingdoms. That now looks doubtful. Your brother has spoken of this?"  
  
"Yes," said Éowyn. "A last stand against the forces of the Dark Lord; a distraction of some sort, but he would not say why a distraction was needed."  
  
"That is as it should be," nodded Aragorn solemnly. "But I will tell you this: we have an advantage; an ace in the hole that will win or cost us this war. It is at its most critical stage. You will know in time."  
  
"Why is it that you visit me?" she said, growing slightly annoyed. Why had he come to speak of his elf-woman? Was Éowyn a second choice of some sort? "Why now?"  
  
Aragorn turned away. He looked out of the window, towards the Land of Shadow. "Tomorrow I leave, perhaps to my death - and perhaps to the death of many others, without whom the world will be a darker place. I speak of your brother Éomer when I say this. I cannot leave you here, alone if my designs go astray. Surely you know that I care for you?"  
  
Éowyn could scarcely believe her ears. "I - I did not, my lord."  
  
"I wish to know that when I - if I return, you will wait for me."  
  
"Of course I will wait," said Éowyn softly. "I have always been waiting."  
  
Then Aragorn stooped and kissed her as she lay. She kissed back, soft and lingering. Aragorn broke the kiss at last and said, "Farewell." Then he was gone.  
  
--+-- E N D . F L A S H B A C K --+--  
  
The door opened. "The Lord Faramir wishes to see you, my lady," said the healer.  
  
"I am coming," sighed Éowyn after a pause. "Tell him I am coming."  
  
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So? What did you think? I'll only continue this if it gets a good response, so please read and review! You can even flame if you like*! But be kind - this is my first LOTR story.  
  
*It would be much appreciated if you didn't 


	2. The Shadow Departs

~@-/Pains in the Heart\-@~  
  
I don't own the characters, just the plot. Inspired by Egleriel's excellent 'Éowyn Nimbeinaith' so kudos Egleriel! Please write a sequel! I like the idea of quoting Tolkien and sticking it into the story, so some bits may seem familiar.  
  
Rosa Cotton, Calleigh, darkend-illusion and 'Lars':): Thank you!  
  
Yeah, it was choppy; I was kinda running back and forth between the computer and the living room (Britney was on Graham Norton lol)  
  
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The Lord Faramir was walking in the gardens when at last Éowyn came. Though she liked Faramir, he caused Éowyn terrible pain; for he looked at her with a loving sadness, ever desiring her but never able to articulate his feelings.  
  
Perhaps it was the similarities between Faramir and Aragorn that had made Éowyn open up to him. In both, the blood of Númenor ran true; both were loremasters and warriors; both were kind and caring in their own right... but Éowyn was loath to forego the icy shell she wove about herself in Faramir's presence, in case her longing for friendship was misconstrued.  
  
The watery sun was concealed by cloud and a chill wind blew from the northeast, so that Éowyn shivered slightly.  
  
"It is cold," said Faramir. He glanced back at the Houses of Healing; a servant was hurrying out to where they stood carrying a dark-blue mantle, studded with silver stars. Faramir had sent for it when he asked for Éowyn. It had belonged to his mother, who he could barely remember. The only other woman he had ever loved.  
  
Faramir took the thick cloak and wrapped it around Éowyn's shoulders. She shrank at the touch and knew that Faramir's arms lingered slightly when he pulled it around her. But Éowyn shuddered again, and Faramir marked it.  
  
"What do you look for, Éowyn?" asked Faramir, his voice a mix of concern, pity and sadness.  
  
"Does not the Black Gate lie yonder?" said Éowyn distantly. "And must he not now be come thither? It is seven days since he rode away."  
  
"Seven days..." said Faramir. "They have brought me joy and pain. Joy to see you; but pain, because now the fear and doubt of this evil time are grown dark indeed. Éowyn, I would not have this world end now, or lose so soon what I have found!"  
  
"Lose what you have found, lord?" Éowyn repeated airily. "Nor would I."  
  
"Indeed?" said Faramir breathlessly. "What do you mean?"  
  
"I would not lose such a friend as you, lord," she said with a sad smile, watching his heart break. "A friend who treats me as an equal, even though I am a woman. A friend, who does not condescend, but is kind and wise. I would not have this world end either, not now..."  
  
She trailed off, continuing to stare in the direction of the Black Gate, and a shadow fell across her heart, for she perceived that Aragorn had fallen into great peril and she gasped, lurching forwards to grip the crenellations on the wall.  
  
"What is it?" cried Faramir, alarmed, as he made to help her back up. Éowyn stood still, catching her breath. At last she straightened again.  
  
"They have been attacked," she whispered fearfully. "They have been attacked."  
  
It was as though they had gone deaf: a deadly silence swept over the land, as the wind stopped, and all went dim, and over the Ephel Dúath they saw a great darkness, pierced by flickering lightning; the very earth trembled to see it... and it was over.  
  
"What has happened?" asked Éowyn. "I feel as though a great weight has been lifted from me, yet the world remains dark."  
  
"The shadow has departed," said Faramir, wondering to hear himself speak. "My limbs are light, and a hope and joy are come to me that now reason can deny. Éowyn, Éowyn, White Lady of Rohan, in this hour I do not feel that any darkness will endure!" He stooped and kissed her brow, but then Éowyn turned away and Faramir was confused. "Why to you turn from me? Can you not see how I feel?"  
  
"I can see," said Éowyn softly, speaking into the breeze. "But I do not look at you as you look at me. My heart lies elsewhere."  
  
She had no sooner said it than pain beyond belief smote Éowyn in the heart; it was as though her blood had frozen and her skin burned at the same time. She cried out, just once, and her knees gave way, and she knew no more.  
  
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	3. The Black Gate Opens

~@-/Pains in the Heart\-@~  
  
I don't own the characters, just the plot. Inspired by Egleriel's excellent 'Éowyn Nimbeinaith' so kudos Egleriel! Please write a sequel! (I'm saying that so he/she doesn't sue...)  
  
I like the idea of quoting Tolkien and sticking it into the story, so some bits may seem familiar.  
  
===================  
  
"These we will take!" cried Gandalf, exerting power like a being greater than any human. Not for the first time, Aragorn wondered who exactly Gandalf was. "These we will take in memory of our friend. But as for your terms, we reject them utterly. Get you gone, for your embassy is over and death is near to you. We did not come here to waste words in treating with Sauron, faithless and accursed; still less with one of his slaves. Begone!"  
  
The Mouth of Sauron obeyed; horns blew at his retreat and the Black Gate opened. A great host poured onto the field; the Captains of the West withdrew and the Orcs laughed.  
  
A great shadow fell across Aragorn's heart and his hope died. He had expected this, but with barely six thousand men, it was certain death. The shock smote Aragorn like a bolt of lightning; he looked down to see an arrow lodged in a flow of his mail. It had not driven though, but he winced. There would be a bruise there tomorrow. If tomorrow came. Aragorn sent up a silent prayer, asking Manwë to speed Frodo and Sam to Orodruin.  
  
He raised Arwen's banner, for though he no longer feigned love for her, the banner was indeed beautiful. Obscured by dust were the symbols of Rohan and Dol Amroth.  
  
As always, Aragorn and his company made up the vanguard; the Dúnedain of the North and South - men of Arnor, Minas Tirith and Dol Amroth stood beside the fair sons of Elrond. The host of Mordor advanced, Orcs and Easterlings, led by innumerable arrows - and Nazgûl.  
  
They screamed, so that the hosts of both East and West cowered and flinched, but the Orcs were slowed by the hillocks and foul pools they encountered ere they reached the hills upon which Aragorn stood, so the first attack was not so powerful as the enemies intended.  
  
Therefore Host of the West were ready for the onslaught, with pikes and halberds slicing and skewering ten feet away from them; but they knew this tactic could not endure for very long.  
  
In the van were numerous trolls of Mordor, screaming in their enslavement; dull-witted and yet armed, and no weapon could pierce their hide from afar. Huge hammers and axes they wielded, but no weapon was so deadly as their hands; helms were of no use against the Hobbit-sized fists of the trolls. At last the Orcs broke through, for the trolls had stunned many of the Host of the West; gateways into the heart of the defence.  
  
Aragorn stood still beneath his banners. He knew that he would die here today, and he thought of Éowyn. How would she take the news of his death? He had betrayed her. He would die.  
  
The fighting spirit of the Dúnedain awoke suddenly within Aragorn. "Not yet!" he yelled, and the men around him wondered. Their hillock was as an island in an ocean of foes. Aragorn drew Andúril and raised it above his head, when suddenly he heard Gandalf: "The Eagles are coming!"  
  
Heads were thrown back and others took up the cry. Soon the battlefield rang with Orc shouts and Easterling curses, but above it all was the clear call of the Host of the West: "The Eagles are coming!"  
  
And they chased the Nazgûl from the air, a great wind sweeping the multitudes below them, and the hosts of Mordor trembled. They were possessed of a great fear and hesitated as they fought. The Host of the West took them to pieces in this moment of uncertainty.  
  
Aragorn waved Andúril and charged forwards, screaming, "For Middle-earth!" The companies burst out from beneath their banners, reinforcing their front lines; an ever-widening circle formed in the midst of the foul hordes.  
  
He ducked and weaved, the familiar dance of battle coming easily to his feet. He slashed at the Orcs before him as more rushed to fill the voids he created. The forces of goblins from the Misty Mountains were spent and great Uruks of Mordor came to the fore. They wore superior armour, but it was no match for Andúril and black blood stained Aragorn's feet, drenching his armoured boots.  
  
And the host paused. Gandalf threw up his arms, Glamdring pointing skywards, and he cried, "Stand, Men of the West! Stand and wait! This is the hour of doom!"  
  
The earth quivered; the Mountain of Doom rose up, far behind the open gates. It was wreathed in flowing flame. Narchost and Carchost, the Towers of the Teeth that flanked the Black Gate, trembled and collapsed inside columns of dust. The Morannon blasted backwards, and the earth roared in the distance.  
  
"The realm of Sauron is ended!" said Gandalf, and as he spoke, a massive wind-borne shadow blotted out the clouds, and it was gone.  
  
But there were those who did not flee: men of the South and East, who had not been enslaved by Sauron, who had joined in pursuit of wealth and power. Their leaders banded together for a final assault on the Captains of the West.  
  
Aragorn laughed, and he slew many of these evil men. Inwardly he rejoiced, for he had almost two lives of Men before him, and he would be King, and Éowyn would be his queen; the remnant of Sauron's forces was tiny.  
  
And it was as these thoughts passed through Aragorn's head that he faced the king of a country on the shores of the Sea of Rhûn. Andúril created only tiny notches in the king's breastplate. The newcomer grinned evilly and his sword drove straight through Aragorn's mail...  
  
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	4. Awakening

~@-/Pains in the Heart\-@~  
  
I don't own the characters, just the plot. Inspired by Egleriel's excellent 'Éowyn Nimbeinaith' so kudos Egleriel! Please write a sequel! (I'm saying that so he/she doesn't sue...)  
  
===================  
  
"Éowyn!" Faramir caught her as she swooned. "Someone help!"  
  
--+-- The Houses of Healing --+--  
  
"I have seen nothing like this before," said the Warden in a low voice. "We need the King, or an elf for this sort of healing."  
  
"What is wrong with her?" said Faramir desperately. "Head, legs, back - where does she ail?"  
  
The Warden looked down at his patient. "Nowhere."  
  
"How can that be?"  
  
"Her body still lives," said the Warden carefully, "indeed it is almost healed. But her mind... her mind has abandoned her. She is but an empty shell."  
  
--+--8--+--  
  
Faramir sat by her bedside for two days. Éowyn had begun to grow cold; cold as the breeze, she was, when Faramir had first lifted her. Now a light frost crisped her skin, and her hair froze into a single golden pane. Faramir was only vaguely aware of a great commotion in the City below.  
  
"Tidings have come!" cried the Warden. "The battle is won! The Dark Lord has fled!"  
  
"Where is Aragorn?" said Faramir levelly, his eyes not leaving Éowyn. "Summon him at once."  
  
"I cannot, my lord," said the Warden, slumping. "He remains in the North."  
  
"Why has he not come?" snapped Faramir.  
  
"'twas only a messenger," said the Warden. "Aragorn-"  
  
"-rejoices in his glorious victory," Faramir sneered.  
  
"No, my lord!" said the Warden, shocked. "He is gravely wounded."  
  
"What?" Faramir rose from his seat. "What has befallen him?"  
  
"A sword-wound, my lord," said the Warden. "Straight through his side. He stabbed the man who did it, just before he fell."  
  
"Will he live?"  
  
"I know not, my lord. No-one does."  
  
--+-- Cormallen --+--  
  
Aragorn opened his eyes. His senses surged back. Memory is always the first to come.  
  
Bright white light... galloping hooves... horns blaring... filthy ground passing beneath his feet... a wedged arrow... dust... an evil grin... a sword.  
  
Aragorn sat up, and was met by a searing pain, as though someone had driven a hot poker into his side.  
  
--+-- Minas Tirith --+--  
  
Éowyn sat bolt upright. "He is alive," she gasped.  
  
--+-- Cormallen --+--  
  
Aragorn fell back onto the bed.  
  
"Aran Elessar na ekhui!" [King Elessar is wakening] cried a voice outside the marquee. The canvas of the tent muffled the sound of footsteps outside. Aragorn's fuzzy vision made Gandalf flicker in and out of focus.  
  
"It's good to see you awake," smiled the wizard. "We thought you might not make it."  
  
"Wh-what happened?" said Aragorn. The words scratched his throat.  
  
"You were almost killed," said Gandalf. "And a good job you recovered. Can you imagine the chaos if you hadn't? The last of Elendil's line comes in the night, only to die a week later!" Gandalf laughed.  
  
"What of Éowyn?" croaked Aragorn. Gandalf's smile faded slightly.  
  
"She is improving," he said. "But it would appear that something very odd has happened."  
  
"What is it?" said Aragorn, suddenly alert.  
  
"A messenger arrived this morning," said Gandalf. "At the moment you were stabbed, Éowyn collapsed. She has been lying in Minas Tirith as though dead."  
  
"Dead?" Aragorn's voice was hollow. "How can this be?"  
  
Gandalf's expression softened. "She has bound herself to you," he said with a wan smile. "I will not press you to speak of this further, but it would appear that she has taken some of the hurt that should have killed you."  
  
"Will she be all right?"  
  
"Of course," smiled Gandalf. "In fact, I would not be surprised if she, too, has awoken now. Lie down. You need your rest."  
  
--+--8--+--  
  
"I have never heard of such a thing before," muttered Gandalf. "Never in two who were not married."  
  
"What are you trying to suggest?" cried Éomer, rising angrily from his seat. "Aragorn is a man of honour, and my sister is no girlish virgin!"  
  
"I meant it not that way," snapped Gandalf. "They are joined in spirit, son of Éomund, and you would do well not to jump to such conclusions!"  
  
"What is it?" asked Legolas. "I have never heard of such a connection."  
  
"It occurs in two kindred spirits," said Gandalf, "who are already joined by a bond of love so strong that it unites their souls. I have never come across a couple joined thus in many years, and this is the first time the pair were not Elvish."  
  
--+-- Minas Tirith --+--  
  
"Who is alive?" asked Faramir sharply. "Who has done this to you?"  
  
Éowyn ran her hand along her side, feeling the lack of wound. "Aragorn."  
  
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	5. Revelations

~@-/Pains in the Heart\-@~  
  
I don't own the characters, just the plot. Inspired by Egleriel's excellent 'Éowyn Nimbeinaith' so kudos Egleriel! Please write a sequel! (I'm saying that so he/she doesn't sue...)  
  
===================  
  
--+-- The Houses of Healing --+-  
  
"Aragorn?" repeated Faramir. He turned to the Warden. "She is fey with fever. Touch her brow, it burns."  
  
Verily, warmth had surged back through Éowyn's body, but she had no fever; sitting by her, Faramir had become accustomed to cold skin.  
  
"She feels healthy, lord," said the Warden. "And look, her arm has also healed."  
  
Faramir scowled. "Leave us." The Warden obeyed. He had never seen the son of Denethor in such a mood.  
  
"Why do you fume so, my lord?" asked Éowyn, taken aback.  
  
"You may speak freely now, my lady," said Faramir, trying to keep his voice level. "What has really happened to you?"  
  
Éowyn thought. Images flashed in her mind - images that she had never seen before. Someone stood alone before a great army amid a cloud of white light. The image changed - a monstrous black gate was opening, spilling forth a huge host. There came the echoes of pounding feet, and the ground flashing beneath fleeing feet. An arrow pinged against armour. Two banners rose in a cloud of foul dust. A man thrust a sword deep into the flesh-  
  
"I know not, lord," she said quietly. "I remember things that have not happened to me."  
  
"Where does it hurt?"  
  
"It feels as though a sword has pierced my side," said Éowyn, "but there is nothing there."  
  
"What truly ails you?" he demanded, not knowing why his anger rose. "What are you hiding from me?"  
  
"I- I hide nothing," she stammered.  
  
"Have I not given you all that you desired in this city?" Faramir hissed, rising from his seat and stepping towards her. "Comfort, companionship, care? How am I repaid? Petty lies and stupid secrets!"  
  
His fist smashed upon the bedside table, but then the spasm passed. He turned to the window and placed his hands upon the sill. His voice shook slightly. "What is it you wait for, lady?"  
  
"An end," said Éowyn. "An end to the pain that has dominated my life. My parents died, and my dear cousin. I spent years as a serving-girl, stalked by a traitor, watching the only father I knew slip into insanity. And the one ray of hope that entered my life-" She stopped.  
  
"I am sorry," said Faramir, misunderstanding her words. "I did not mean to lose my temper. But it is a comfort to know... surely you have noticed... I cannot hide my affection for you."  
  
With a thrill of horror, Éowyn realised what he thought. "My lord, I am flattered, but-"  
  
"But you have just told me you feel the same," smiled Faramir.  
  
"No. You are mistaken, my lord," said Éowyn softly. "I wait for the Lord Aragorn."  
  
~*~*~*~^~*~*~*~  
  
FOUR DAYS LATER  
  
--+-- Minas Tirith --+--  
  
The news was spreading like wildfire: the King is coming! He is in Osgiliath, they said; he has reached the Crossroads, said others. But all were surprised when the gleam of many armoured men was seen in the distance at the fourth hour. By sunset, a host of over five thousand had arrived at the gates.  
  
The crowd roared; the streets of the White City were thronged. "The King has returned!" they chanted, but the King could barely ride. Halfway across the Pelennor, he had left the wagon in which he had rested for the latter part of the journey and mounted.  
  
The new king rode up through the gates of the City, faster than he would have in ordinary circumstances. He rounded the Sixth Gate - and there she stood. Her arm was no longer in a sling; she stood upon the wall of the Citadel, clad in white, hair flowing out behind in the wind. He felt a surge of guilt, thinking of the pain he had put her through, and broke into a gallop.  
  
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	6. Athelas

~@-/Pains in the Heart\-@~  
  
I don't own the characters, just the plot.  
  
Thanks to everyone who reviewed! Just want to clarify a few things:  
  
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To Egleriel and Common Welsh Green:  
  
This chapter will be right up your alley.  
  
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To Lyra Belacqua:  
  
[I love HDM, too!] Thanks for reviewing, but please try not to type in SMS language. What's "cnxn"? :)  
  
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To writerbrat:  
  
I'm sorry you feel that way, but he's supposed to be maddened by - well, a lot of things. Faramir has faced the deaths of his entire family and the wounding of the woman he loves. Now she (in his eyes) is playing games saying she doesn't know why it hurts. Plus, spending 2 days sitting alone in a sick-room can't be good for a person's mental health. And Faramir does try to master his temper. If you really don't like it, well, free speech and flaming are still legal... ;) [Darn...]  
  
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To Rosa Cotton: Getting there...  
  
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--+-- The Houses of Healing: Gatelodge --+--  
  
Faramir sighed. He had not lost control like that in a very long time. As Steward, by right he should be out greeting the Lord Aragorn, but he had not the heart. Not long before, Lady Éowyn had heard the news of the King's arrival and rushed out onto the walls.  
  
The noise in the streets was deafening, even from up here in the Citadel. Faramir's heart twisted as he thought of her words. "I wait for the Lord Aragorn." How had he not seen it before? He had given little thought to anything other than Éowyn's health during the two days of his vigil, least of all to her comment that her heart lay elsewhere. It had slipped his mind. Now it obsessed him.  
  
A glum bitterness enshrouded Faramir's thoughts. Aragorn had his choice of any woman in the West of Middle-earth - even among the Elves, it seemed. And yet he spurned an Elven-princess for the woman that Faramir, too, loved. Faramir knew that affairs of the heart could not be controlled, that it was not Aragorn's fault, but it still slightly soured the new King in Faramir's eyes.  
  
The Steward of Gondor started. A wild clip-clop burst into the courtyard.  
  
Forcing a gracious smile to his face, Faramir opened the door. For four days he had dwelt on his own outburst and Éowyn's response. The smile was graven upon his face like a scar. The King of the West-lands slid lopsidedly onto the cobbles. Faramir could see that his side pained him and though it did not cheer Faramir (for he was not that sort of man), it increased his sympathy for Aragorn.  
  
The image Faramir had built up in his head was immediately dispelled. The sourness vanished. Looking as though for the first time, he saw not the brutish warrior he had envisioned over the past week, but a man aged beyond his years; burdened with cares enough to crush him; resentful of the battlefield but unafraid; worried about his own aptitude for the kingship; and Faramir was proud to be his second-in-command. He could not have released Éowyn to a better; indeed he would have fought a lesser man.  
  
Instead, Faramir stepped out into the plaza. "My lord," he said, bowing as best he could. Aragorn nodded slightly.  
  
"Take me to Éowyn," gasped Aragorn, and Faramir understood that even talking took effort for the king. He nodded with implicit sorrow and led the way.  
  
--+-- The Houses of Healing: Halls --+--  
  
The corridors of the Houses of Healing were abuzz; wise women and healers smartened themselves up and scrubbed floors for the King's arrival.  
  
Aragorn took his time; he could not walk very fast. There was the sound of smashing glass from upstairs and muffled raised voices. Faramir stopped and stared at the ceiling, but Aragorn kept concentrating on each step.  
  
Suddenly a door burst open at the end of the corridor. The chief healer stood there, ruddy-cheeked and wheezing. He strode, almost ran, to where the two most powerful men in Gondor stood. In his hand he clutched some leaves of athelas.  
  
Aragorn gave a shuddering sigh and took the leaves. He crushed one of them and seemed to gain a new clarity. "Athelas," he said with the barest hint of his former weakness, "is undoubtedly the most extraordinary plant in all of Middle-earth."  
  
"You are healed," said Faramir, gobsmacked, "by that one leaf?"  
  
"For a little while. It does not destroy the wound, but it quells the pain for some time. It inspires the brain and body to fulfil its utmost potential. These herbs are very fresh," added Aragorn to the healer.  
  
"We sent a rider when we heard of your coming," said the healer proudly. "He has just returned."  
  
"Thank you." Aragorn glanced out the window. High above, he caught the glint of gold hair. "I must go."  
  
He sprinted up the hallway, wincing very slightly every time he set down his right foot, like one with a stitch in the side, not a gaping wound.  
  
--+-- The Houses of Healing: Walls --+--  
  
The walls of the Citadel towered above the Houses of Healing, and cast a shadow over the gardens in morning. But in the afternoon, the white walls were dyed gold and reflected the sky like a mesh catching the colours of the heavens.  
  
Éowyn stood, clad as always in white. Her heart leapt at the glimmer of metal at the edge of the Pelennor; it fell when she saw Aragorn riding beneath the banner of Arwen. Had she rejected Faramir only to be snubbed herself?  
  
--+--^--+--  
  
On the third-to-top floor of the Houses of Healing there is a door. If one were to open it on a fresh afternoon of early spring, one would see a mail- clad man toiling up the stone staircase that lies beyond it. If one were to follow that man, one would have emerged at the top of the staircase into the bright light of day and witnessed the following exchange...  
  
Aragorn stood atop the steps. Éowyn remained motionless, staring out over the Pelennor, green no more. He made to step forward onto the main walkway, but faltered. Éowyn heard the clatter of boot on stone and turned. Aragorn drew breath, marvelling at her beauty. Éowyn tilted her head, seeing in clearness his. They began to move towards one another.  
  
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	7. The Walls of Minas Anor

~@-/Pains in the Heart\-@~  
  
I don't own the characters, just the plot.  
  
This is a short-ish chapter. I never realised how difficult these scenes are! Note to budding authors: reunions are HARD!  
  
Mousie2: 2AM!? Where do YOU live? Go to sleep! Lol - wait, are you writing the sequel to Hope in the Darkness? Keep writing, keep writing!  
  
The Dark Wanderer: I agree.  
  
===================  
  
--+-- The Walls of Minas Anor --+--  
  
Éowyn had seen him riding through the city; he had begun to gallop and her heart rose again. And then... nothing. He had disappeared into the Houses of Healing and disappeared. Maybe the gallop - maybe it had been pain, not love, which drove him to speed. Even as she thought this, she heard a small noise, like the rattle of a spoon set on the ground. She turned; and there he stood.  
  
His face was relaxed; he was pale from blood loss and his mail had a curiously lopsided quality, for his side was padded out with bandages. But his hair gleamed in the sun and the light seemed to shine brighter upon him than anything else. Éowyn drew a quick breath.  
  
She turned her whole body towards Aragorn, skirts swishing, heart pounding painfully. The step came automatically, each quicker than the last. Her brain seemed to have seized up and vacated her body in a puff of smoke. Had it remained, Éowyn would have realised that Aragorn was coming towards her.  
  
And suddenly they were before one another. Aragorn, pain forgotten, took Éowyn in his arms and twirled her about like a child. Their lips met at the same moment as Éowyn's feet hit the ground. A wind swirled around the city and reached them on the battlement; their hair rushed out over the gardens, mingled black and gold.  
  
They parted, and the wind fell. "You are healed," smiled Aragorn.  
  
"Your side-" began Éowyn; "You are not."  
  
"It will mend," said Aragorn. "It pains me less with every second that passes."  
  
There was a brief pause; the cheers of the crowd could be heard from below, rejoicing in the love story that was being played out above them.  
  
"You shall be King," said Éowyn. "They love you. They would have no- one else, if another were to arise."  
  
"And you shall be Queen," said Aragorn, "if that is your will."  
  
Éowyn smiled, at a loss for words. "It is my will," she said softly.  
  
"So be it!" cried Aragorn, so that the masses below could hear; but his eyes never left Éowyn. "Lady Éowyn of Rohan, wilt thou be my wife?"  
  
"Yea," she laughed, "I will."  
  
The crowd screamed their congratulation; the royal couple-to-be kissed gently before returning indoors, walking along the wall hand-in-hand.  
  
--+-- The Houses of Healing --+--  
  
There was but one person within earshot of this exchange who did not celebrate. Faramir son of Denethor stood felt his heart shatter when Éowyn spoke; though he had known for two days her answer to such a question. He admired Aragorn, but he loved Éowyn; one of the two would have to be greater.  
  
Faramir returned silently to his chamber and awaited the sunset.  
  
=================== 


	8. The Coronation of Thorongil

~@-/Pains in the Heart\-@~  
  
I don't own the characters, just the plot. However, I do have virtual voodoo dolls with which I do evil things muhuhahaha!  
  
To Common Welsh Green: Thank you! [My cousin says 'confussticated' :)]  
  
To Calleigh: Actually, Egleriel has a good piece called Tolkien's First Draft - it's very informative.  
  
To Writerbrat: No prob. I do that, too.  
  
To Kiki: Damn right! The Arwen ending was SO forced. I was like, where'd that come from?  
  
To Rosa Cotton: Just you wait and see... well actually, I'll be the one to wait and see. I'm making this up as I go along :)  
  
===================  
  
--+-- Minas Tirith --+--  
  
A month had passed since Aragorn and Éowyn's engagement; the City was teeming with guests from all across the West, all clamouring for a look at the new King. Today was his coronation.  
  
Faramir was ready for the ceremony. This was one ceremony he would not begrudge Aragorn; indeed it would be his last duty as Steward. He stood on the road just beyond the Gates in a long courtyard formed by soldiers of both Gondor and Rohan; behind him were countless citizens of the West.  
  
At an undetectable signal, the Dúnedain detached themselves from the rear of the Gondorian soldiers. Ranged like a regiment, Aragorn led them up the broad aisle between the two armies. The people were breathtaken; they had expected a man somewhere between a young lad fresh to war and a battle- scarred old fellow. Few recalled the tales of the Númenoreans, and their lifespan that is thrice that of lesser men. So indeed they saw both a man of 88, and a man in the prime of life.  
  
He was clad in black mail, trimmed with silver, with a long white mantle held with a green jewel at the neck; and that jewel was the Elessar. He wore no helm, but a slender silver circlet that bore a white gem. And as the guard of Aragorn progressed, the people realised that his company was made up not solely of Dúnedain; also among the party were the Hobbits Frodo Baggins, Samwise Gamgee (and rumour rippled through the crowd that these had cast down the Shadow), and Meriadoc Brandybuck subject of Rohan, and Peregrin Took Guard of Minas Tirith; and King Éomer of Rohan; and Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth; and the wizard Gandalf, whom many present called Mithrandir.  
  
And a trumpet rang out over the Pelennor, calling for silence; Faramir's time had come. With a brief glance backwards, he saw four high-ranking members of the Guard carrying an ancient black casket like a coffin. It had not been seen by the people of Gondor in almost ten centuries, not since the reign of King Eärnur, the ill-fated last king of Gondor. Faramir felt a twinge of pride that his family had ruled Gondor for 969 years; and a twinge of regret that he would never rule. Faramir was not power-hungry, but curious. He had had so many ideas for Gondor... but then again, it had been a long time since he had been in control of his life. Faramir drained the thoughts from his head and stepped forwards.  
  
He met Aragorn halfway through the crowd and sank to one knee. This was the moment Boromir had longed for; that Denethor had said would never happen. Thinking of his lost family sent a stab of grief through his heart; and he looked up at Aragorn, offering up the white rod of the Stewards.  
  
"The last Steward of Gondor begs leave to surrender his office," said Faramir.  
  
A sudden remembrance struck him like a blow as he spoke.  
  
--+-- F L A S H B A C K --+--  
  
He had been quite young - at the awkward age between childhood and the teens. An older member of the Guard sat in the mess hall, slowly gnawing an apple.  
  
"Long ago, it was," said Aldacar, "too long ago for my liking. He was a tall man, clad most often in black; and he was a great leader, and a great loremaster, though there was little time for tales on the battlefield and that was where I knew him. He was always in the van, but never in danger somehow. We would have followed him to the ends of Middle-earth."  
  
"Who was he?" young Faramir had said.  
  
"Called himself Thorongil," mused the older man. "Eagle of the Star, if my memory still serves me."  
  
"What an odd name."  
  
"Indeed. I seem to recall a great green gem he wore everywhere, pinned to his cloak... it was set in a great silver brooch like an eagle, and it glowed, as though it captured the light of a thousand leaves..."  
  
--+-- E N D . F L A S H B A C K --+--  
  
Faramir looked up again, gazing at the brooch Aragorn wore. It was exactly as Aldacar had described.  
  
He remembered the rest of that conversation, how Thorongil had been an adviser to your the Lord Ecthelion; Thorongil's popularity, matched only by Denethor's jealousy; how Thorongil was perfectly happy to serve under Denethor's Stewardship. How the people had wanted Thorongil to take the white rod instead.  
  
And here was Faramir, kneeling before his father's rival. His father was dead; Thorongil would succeed him after all. He wondered if Denethor had ever discovered Thorongil's true name and lineage; Faramir had no doubts that he had. And then he realised the king was speaking.  
  
"That office is not ended," said Aragorn, giving the rod back, "and it shall be thine and thy heirs' as long as my line shall last. Do now thy office!"  
  
Faramir smiled and stood up. He looked to the crowd. "Men of Gondor!" he cried, "hear now the Steward of this Realm! Behold! One has come to claim the kingship again at last. Here is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Chieftain of the Dúnedain of Arnor, Captain of the Host of the West, bearer of the Star of the North, wielder of the Sword Reforged, victorious in battle, whose hands bring healing, the Elfstone, Elessar of the line of Valandil, Isildur's son, Elendil's son of Númenor. Shall he be king and enter into the City and dwell there?"  
  
And all the people - men, women, children, soldiers and civilians alike - cried "Yea!" with one monstrous voice. Faramir smiled again and continued:  
  
"I have today brought hither from Rath Dínen the crown of Eärnur the last king, whose days passed in the time of our longfathers of old."  
  
The guards behind Faramir knew what to do. They came level with Faramir; and he opened the Lebrethon chest, and he raised the crown of the kings of Gondor. It was shaped like a helm of the Citadel, but it was all of white, with the wings on either side wrought of pearl and silver like that of a seabird, which was the emblem of the kings of Númenor.  
  
As he took in the seven diamonds set in the circlet and that single bright jewel at the top of the crown, an ancient rhyme ran through Faramir's head:  
  
Tall ships and tall kings  
Three times three,  
What brought they from the foundered land  
Over the flowing sea?  
Seven stars and seven stones  
And one white tree.  
  
Every Gondorian child learnt that rhyme from its nurse, and here was the Steward Faramir II, son of Denethor II of the line of Mardil Voronwë, singing it at his king's coronation. And then Aragorn spoke the words of Elendil in the High-Elvish tongue, and every person in the crowd knew its meaning, for it, too, was a line learned in early childhood:  
  
Out of the Great Sea to Middle-earth I am come.  
In this place will I abide, and my heirs, unto the ending of this world.  
  
The crowd held its breath. There was not a sound. Aragorn was not succeeding a king, so protocol was being compromised, but he did not put the crown on himself, though his hands trembled with excitement.  
  
"By the labour and valour of many I have come into my inheritance. In token of this I would have the Ring-bearer bring the crown to me, and let Mithrandir set it upon my head, if he will; for he has been the mover of all that has been accomplished, and this is his victory."  
  
And so it was done. Aragorn knew that his request could be seen as vanity, trying to draw out the ceremony as long as possible, but the weight of the crown upon his head would feel sweeter if his old friend was to set it there. And when Gandalf placed it on Aragorn's head, he turned to the people and said, "Now come the days of the King, and may they be blessed while the thrones of the Valar endure!"  
  
Aragorn Elessar arose. It seemed to the people that for the first time he was revealed to them. Tall as the sea-kings of old, he stood above all that were near; ancient of days he seemed and yet in the flower of manhood; and wisdom sat upon his brow, and strength and healing were in his hands, and a light was about him.  
  
"Behold the king!" cried Faramir.  
  
The crowd exploded, and trumpets sang, and the King of Gondor went forth into his city.  
  
=================== 


	9. Arwen's Offer

**-/Pains in the Heart-  
**  
I don't own the characters, just the plot. However, I do have virtual voodoo dolls with which I do evil things muhuhahaha!  
  
===================  
  
---- **Minas Tirith** ----  
  
Tears flowed down Éowyn's face. She was standing at the barrier beside the Gate, behind which all the noblemen and women of the West had watched the coronation. Her heart fluttered as she realised for the first time that she was marrying the king. However, happiness was not the only reason for her tears.  
  
It had been as the crowd spilled forwards behind Aragorn - a multitude threatening to swarm and spread across the city like jubilant bees - that she had caught the look Faramir gave her. It had scarcely been more than a glance, but it conveyed more emotion than Éowyn could bear, before Faramir was swallowed up by the crowd.  
  
It was longing, devoid of hatred; sadness, lacking bitterness; a passive expression of purest sorrow. And that was when Éowyn remembered his words in the Houses of Healing. She realised that her love would hurt others - Arwen, Faramir... Love does not always mean happiness.  
  
--------  
  
Aragorn settled into the deep softness of his bed. It had been a long day, and his last steps had felt odd without the heavy mail he had worn all day. It had been wonderful. For almost 70 years he had dreamt of this day, and now it had passed. It was very different from his first imaginings.  
  
For one thing, he did not have Arwen by his side. His feelings had changed; Éowyn- she had acted so oddly. She wandered the streets as though alone, even though the avenues of the City were thronged. A slight frown had rested upon her brow, and her reverie could not be disturbed unless it was Aragorn who spoke to her.  
  
"Come in," said Aragorn, in answer to the two knocks on the door. There stood the one person who he had feared to see.  
  
"_Melamin, melamin_!" wailed Arwen, almost throwing herself across the room into his arms. "How you torture me! How can you refuse me?" she said, searching his face for an answer that was not forthcoming.  
  
"I-" the truth was harsh, but no other reason could suffice, "I have found another, for whom my love surpasses even that which grew between us."  
  
"No!" she screamed. Her tone dropped, it was fey and she muttered, as though to herself. "It is mere jest, he is not serious, he would not snub me so... You love me!"  
  
"Arwen!" said Aragorn, taking her shoulders. Arwen whimpered, her lip trembling, her eyes still seeking another explanation. "That is enough. You know I speak truly. It was hard enough letting you go once, I cannot bear it a second time."  
  
He released her. Arwen stood, staring into the carpet a few feet away. She bit her lip till it almost bled, then came to a decision. The tears dropped to the floor and their trails dried. Aragorn knew not what to do with himself.  
  
"Then do not," said Arwen at last, looking up. Her smouldering eyes bore a hole into Aragorn's brain. "You are not in your right mind, Elessar. You and I have loved each other for many years; she is but a spring bud – fair for long, but bitter at the last. You have been away from home too long."

"Home?" said Aragorn.

"Imladris will always be your home," said Arwen. "You know this, deep inside of yourself."

"No," Aragorn sighed. "I grew up there, it is true; but Minas Tirith is the home of the Line of Elendil until Fornost or Annúminas is rebuilt. But never again shall the Kings of Men seek charity from the Elves."

Arwen was too shocked to speak. "Ch-charity? Then you resent the time you spent there?"

"Of course not," said Aragorn, "but the place for Men... is among other Men."

"It needn't be!" cried Arwen. "Aragorn, what has possessed you?" She began to shake as though herself possessed. She laid her fair head against his broad chest as she wept. He stroked her hair, trying to calm her. A shoot of hope flared in the Elf's heart.

=================== 


	10. Aragorn's Choice

**-/Pains**** in the Heart-**  
  
I don't own the characters, just the plot. However, I do have virtual voodoo dolls with which I do evil things muhuhahaha!  
  
--------------------------------------  
  
===================  
  
**---- Minas Tirith: Éowyn's Chambers ----**  
  
She couldn't take it any more. Sliding out from between the linen, she slipped on a satin robe and quietly turned the doorknob. The hallway was deserted. A long red carpet ran up through the middle of the marble corridor; her cold toes sank deep into the thick carpet as she silently tripped along to the staircase.  
  
Éowyn was uncomfortably aware of the sticky sound of her bare feet on the cold marble, but there was no helping it. The voices were getting louder, echoing around the floor. It was clearer now, too, and she could catch some of what was being said. Éowyn stopped on the third-to-last step to listen.  
  
"Imladris will always be your home."  
  
It was a woman's voice. It had the musical quality that Éowyn associated with the Fair Folk. She gasped. She was here. The Elf-princess that Aragorn had been fated to marry. Why was she here? Who had summoned her? And why - Éowyn's heart froze - why was she in Aragorn's bedchamber?  
  
The silence was cold. Then the Elf spoke again, "You know this, deep inside of yourself." A chill smote Éowyn. The Elf's voice was soft, and yet carried a power that Éowyn could sense from the hall. It suddenly struck Éowyn that she would have to offer an explanation for her curiosity, were she caught.  
  
Coming up with nothing, Éowyn crept up the last few steps and crossed the hall to peep round the corner as the Elf flung herself against Aragorn's breast. She glimpsed Aragorn's profile lit by the celebrating City below. Straight in front of her, Aragorn's hand went to the Elf's back, and his other to her silky hair. He made comforting noises. Éowyn gasped and made to enter the room, but a sudden hand on her shoulder restrained her.  
  
It was a guard. She hadn't even heard his approach. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.  
  
"I- I heard voices," stammered Éowyn in shock.  
  
"These," announced the guard, "are King Elessar's private rooms. You have no business here. Who are you?"  
  
Éowyn drew herself up. "I am the Lady Éowyn of Rohan, betrothed of the King."  
  
The guard glanced into Aragorn's room, and Éowyn peeked in as well. Her breath caught in her throat. Arwen's arms were encircling Aragorn; suddenly the guard jerked her back.  
  
"You are betrothed to the king, you say?" sneered the guard. "Then who is the woman in his chamber?"  
  
"I - I -"  
  
"You will come with me."  
  
Éowyn glanced back, but the pair had moved so that Éowyn could not see from the stairs. She felt tears well up in her eyes; her eyes picked out every thread in the carpet, and she struggled slightly, though knew her strength was not the match of the guard's. He had to half-drag her down the stairs. "You'll be seeing the Lord Steward!" he panted, for Éowyn was far from delicate.  
  
"Aragorn!" she whispered, though it had meant to be a scream, as she rounded the foot of the steps, and she was gone.  
  
**---- Minas Tirith: Aragorn's Chambers ----  
**  
Aragorn's mind felt as though it was clouding up; the room was slowly becoming hazier and the only clear thing in it was Arwen. Her face was turned to his as she wrapped her arms around him. She was truly a vision of beauty: a glowing star amidst the gloom. Her face was rising; their lips brushed against each other.  
  
"I cannot," he said, slipping from her embrace. "You must go."  
  
"Why?" demanded Arwen, her despair boiling into rage. "You do not resist my touch! I will not be a mistress, waiting in the wings until your human fancy withers into dust!"  
  
"That is not my intent!" cried Aragorn.  
  
"What is your intent, then," sneered Arwen, "o great King of Men? Why do you kiss me, unless you love me?"  
  
"I believe it is customary to kiss goodbye," said Aragorn coldly. He had not meant for it to happen, but it had, and he had not resisted.  
  
It took Arwen by surprise. She stepped back, her anger suddenly chilled. "You really do love her," she said in awe.  
  
"I do," said Aragorn solemnly.  
  
"Then I must congratulate you," said Arwen, her voice shaking. "May you and she fare well as King and Queen."  
  
And with that, Arwen gained a new resolve. She stood up; tall and proud as the Elf-lady she was, she left the room. Aragorn heard her footsteps clacking down the stairs and dropped onto his bed, feeling villainous for his treatment of her. But had there been any other way?  
  
Arwen took horse, still clad in little more than a nightgown, and left the Citadel, left Minas Tirith. It was not until her horse had taken her to the very edge of the Pelennor that she looked back, and said, "I could have loved this land; I could have been its queen. But better a spinster in Tol Eressëa than trapped in marriage to a man who loves another."  
  
And she rode off, and was not seen again by her friends or kin in the West of Middle-earth, for she rode to the Havens, eating only Lembas, drinking only water, warding off illness with the protection that dwells within the very skin of the Elves. And there she took ship, and was reunited with Celebrían her mother; and later with her father and brothers, and her grandparents Galadriel and Celeborn, and with the Ringbearer and Ringfinder.  
  
=================== 


	11. Cages

-/Pains in the Heart-  
  
I don't own the characters, just the plot. However, I do have virtual voodoo dolls with which I do evil things muhuhahaha!  
  
---- Minas Tirith: Faramir's Chambers ----  
  
Éowyn cried the whole way through the palace. Even at this very moment, she felt his touch...  
  
The guard stopped; he had words with a pair of guards at the set of double doors. One nodded and took hold of Éowyn while the first guard led them through the doors and down a dimly-lit corridor. He knocked on the third door down. Faramir answered. "Yes?" Then he caught sight of Éowyn.  
  
"Éowyn! What on earth are you doing here?"  
  
"She was trying to break into the King Elessar's quarters," said the guard uncertainly. A spasm of pain flickered across Faramir's face. Faramir stepped aside to allow them entry into his chambers.  
  
"Is this true?" he said, unable to keep the sadness from his voice.  
  
"Yes, milord," said Éowyn mildly. "I heard shouting; I saw the Elf there-"  
  
"What Elf?"  
  
"The one to whom he was engaged," said Éowyn. "She was trying- trying to seduce him, I think... they embraced..."  
  
Éowyn gave a great, shuddering sigh and dissolved into tears again.  
  
"Then he has betrayed you?" said Faramir, his voice quaking with anger; he turned to search for his sword.  
  
"I know not, milord," said Éowyn desperately.  
  
t was at that moment that an enormous crash from outside. The double doors had been smashed open and Aragorn appeared in Faramir's doorway, sword raised, his face flushed.  
  
"Aragorn!" said Éowyn. She rushed to him; he dropped his sword and their hands clasped at chest height.  
  
"I came to check on you..." he began.  
  
"I heard voices..."  
  
"I thought you might. I am so sorry..."  
  
"It was not your fault..."  
  
"It was. Can you forgive me?"  
  
They kissed and Faramir turned away. He set down his sword as quietly as he could, then turned round with a forced grin.  
  
"Thank the Valar that has been cleared up," said Faramir when they had broken apart. The couple deferred to Faramir, and left.  
  
---- Minas Tirith: Aragorn's Chambers ----  
  
"Éowyn," soothed Aragorn, "why do you cry still?"  
  
"I thought I was going to lose you," she sobbed, soaking his shoulder. "It wasn't until I saw her..."  
  
Éowyn trailed off. "What?" said Aragorn. "What do you fear?" She broke out of his grip and moved out onto the balcony.  
  
"I told you once," she said softly after a moment, "that I feared a cage. I have always been caged; by womanhood, by duty, by illness... but independence is its own cage. Loneliness is a stronger prison, for once one learns to live there, they can never break free. They can never survive without the comfort of their own company. You saved me from that cage, Aragorn. You will never understand how much that means to me."  
  
Aragorn put his arms around his bride-to-be. They looked out over what was to be their City.  
  
"It is beautiful, is it not?" he said.  
  
"There is too much white stone, and too few green," replied Éowyn. "Somehow, it is a City with too much life, and not enough that is alive."  
  
"I think I understand," smiled Aragorn.  
  
"It is so different to all I have ever known," she sighed. "Look at the fields of the Pelennor. It nearly brings a tear to my eye; 'tis so black and barren. Look! It smokes still!"  
  
And verily wisps of smoke still rose from the deepest trenches dug by the hosts of Mordor.  
  
"It looks as though nothing could ever grow there again," said Éowyn.  
  
"They were once wide farms," said Aragorn. "Fertile and green. So it shall be again."  
  
"Yes."  
  
They shared a lingering kiss, before Éowyn returned to her chambers downstairs and Aragorn enjoyed the first sleep in his royal bed.  
  
=================== 


	12. Kindred Spirits

-/Pains in the Heart-  
  
I don't own the characters, just the plot. However, I do have virtual voodoo dolls with which I do unrepeatable things muhuhahaha! Note: this chap is really short.  
  
--------------------------------------  
  
---- Minas Tirith: Faramir's Chambers ----  
  
Faramir's hand was still shaking when the echoes died away. He lifted his sword and looked along it. Little over two months ago, it had been drenched in Orc-blood, and Faramir had been subject to his father's wrath, and Boromir - Boromir had still been alive.  
  
The pain had been blocked out for too long now. Faramir dropped onto his bed and put his head in his hands, and he thought of all that had befallen him: Boromir's death, and his father's death; Éowyn's rejection and Aragorn's return. After a moment, he lifted his head for a blurry view of the sword. It had not tasted blood in some time...  
  
---- Minas Tirith: Éowyn's Chambers ----  
  
Creeping back into bed, Éowyn wept with relief. He had never wanted to hurt her at all. It was all the doing of that Elf-witch... she was, after all, kin of the Sorceress of Dwimordene.  
  
She could not yet bring herself to contemplate what might have been, for it was too painful. She needed a distraction. She almost yearned...  
  
---- Minas Tirith: Faramir's Chambers ----  
  
...for the taste of blood upon his sword, and Faramir surprised himself in thinking it. He had never delighted in warfare, and wished now for his brother's demeanour: to take joy in battle and care not for a woman's touch. Faramir felt the need for such an attitude, for he ached for an escape, something to free his mind. He wanted to destroy, purge, avenge his anguish on something inert.  
  
And the rage sparked, seeping across his brain. He had gone for his sword the first time. How could anyone even consider gambling their chance with her? He wanted the blood of the one who had...  
  
---- Minas Tirith: Éowyn's Chambers ----  
  
...so nearly betrayed her. Perhaps she was overreacting – she had been crying after all, and Aragorn could not stand by while a woman wept - but Arwen could make Aragorn betray her. Yet Aragorn could make her free. He could save her from loneliness, and would welcome company more than-  
  
Éowyn shook herself. Why was she comparing them? She loved Aragorn. Loved him more than anyone alive. More than-  
  
Stop! she thought. She had turned from him in the Houses of Healing; she would follow her heart, and would not be persuaded by a puppy-dog glance in the crowd. No. She would be the Queen, and counted among the great of Gondor and...  
  
---- Minas Tirith: Faramir's Chambers ----  
  
... and she would go down in history as the most valiant woman who ever lived. Faramir wanted her by his side, but that would mean stealing her from Aragorn, which was impossible. And with a tinge of bitterness, Faramir resigned himself to the fact that the King Elessar...  
  
---- Minas Tirith: Éowyn's Chambers ----  
  
... he would go down in history as the greatest man to live since the Elder Days; no Ranger of Ithilien could compete with that...  
  
No man could.  
  
=================== 


	13. More Time

~@-/Pains in the Heart\-@~  
  
I don't own the characters, just the plot. However, I do have virtual voodoo dolls with which I do unrepeatable things muhuhahaha!  
  
The next few chapters will either be very short or very slow in the coming, cos I have exams all next week :( and I need to study, big-style. And then on top of that, I'm trying to write with a teenage creativity demon and a brother who won't let me play on his Xbox.  
  
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Keep those reviews coming, even if it's abusive - I take it as a vote of confidence that I'm being controversial and annoying the right people :) [hehe Sam Vimes in Night Watch rules]  
  
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The Dark Wanderer: Thank you. I'm glad you liked it.  
  
JoJo4: I don't think many women would've acted like Arwen. She was half- crazed with bitterness, jealousy and sorrow. Yes, she's out-of-character. I accept that. No hope for Faramir? I wouldn't jump to conclusions... Thanks for reviewing, I hope you keep reading.  
  
Rosa Cotton: Thank you! I like to keep readers on the edge of their seats...  
  
Mousie2: Thanks, it's harder than it looks cos I only decided on the format halfway through. Keep writing "Hope in Minas Tirith" - it has to be Aragorn and Éowyn together! Don't let him marry someone else!  
  
Necole: Hehehe, I'm very flattered, and *singsong voice* I'm not telling you! Like I said, Faramir's becoming a bit of a loose cannon, but I swear I'll keep him in character! Éowyn is starting to have feel bad about rejecting him, but at the same time knows Aragorn loves her more than anything else. It's going to get *complicated*.  
  
Common Welsh Green: LOL! Yes, actually we are.  
  
Ithil: Yeah, I guess, but like you said it's AU and I prefer the A/É pairing.  
  
Canonwhore #1: It's only fan fiction. It's not meant to represent the way it *should* have been, it's just my opinion. The scene in the Appendices was good, yes, but I felt that Arwen had no bearing on the War of the Ring: she seemed like just another incentive for Aragorn to become king, rather than the whole reason. Éowyn was a real heroine, and without her the victory at the Battle of the Pelennor would've been lessened (steeds fleeing in madness, Witch-King killing people, etc.) Éowyn and Faramir are good together, but I felt as though Éowyn was settling - she knew she could never have the 'Aragorn' she saw, but still wanted that person.  
  
-------------------  
  
Now, on with the story!  
  
-------------------+-------------------  
  
--+-- Minas Tirith --+--  
  
Morning sunlight seeped over the sleeping city, dripping lazily into the courtyards and lanes. Aragorn stirred.  
  
The first thing to hit him was the headache. The Elves had long since mastered a way of distilling the brew so that the morning pain was almost eradicated, but then glirifalf was meant to be taken in small drops, not bottlefuls. It felt as though the back of Aragorn's head was being smashed open from inside with a sledgehammer; the pain pulsed through his brain. Clutching the back of his head, he staggered over to the cabinet where he kept some leaves of athelas. He crushed them into the bowl of water on his dressing table and lay back while the pungent fragrance slowly cleared the worst of the headache.  
  
By now, the sun was beginning to climb; still marvelling at the effect of the athelas, Aragorn put on fresh clothes and made his way down to the dining hall.  
  
Éowyn arrived at almost exactly the same time, immaculate in a white gown that covered her feet, looking both beautiful and awkward. She seemed to glide over to Aragorn. "I know not what to do," she shrugged; "the courts of the Rohirrim are not so formal."  
  
"I shall see to it that you are at ease during meals," smiled Aragorn, his eyes twinkling. "The Steward were well known for wrapping even the simplest occasions in unnecessary protocol."  
  
Taking Éowyn's arm, he led her to the breakfast table; to the surprise of all present, he sat not in the great chair of the king at the head of the table, but it the chair just below it, and opposite him sat Éowyn. She smiled, knowing that it was for her comfort that he did not assume the royal chair.  
  
"I have eaten in my chambers this past month," said Éowyn; "a maid brought me what ever I wanted, for I knew not how and when the people of the White City broke their fasts."  
  
A great banquet was spread before them, running down the table like a runner through stairs. Aragorn took fried eggs and toast; Éowyn selected hot toast (straight off the fire) and placed some bacon and sausages on her plate. When she reached for second helpings, Aragorn began to laugh. "I can see that uncertainty has placed no damper on your appetite!" he said.  
  
Éowyn chuckled weakly, but stared miserably at her plate for a moment, as though contemplating putting it back. Aragorn watched her and a faint smile tweaked his face.  
  
"Eat to your heart's content, my lady," he said with a wan smile. He paused, considering her pensively. "Éowyn, perhaps we should wait..."  
  
She stopped. "Wait for what, Aragorn?" she said suspiciously.  
  
Aragorn sighed. "You are not yet acquainted with the ways of this land. Would you prefer to postpone the wedding? After all, there are no solid arrangements yet; we may still plan, but put it off longer."  
  
It was a difficult question. Éowyn swallowed hard, looking into his eyes. There was no sign of ulterior motive, or jest, or cruel rejection, just honesty and concern. "I would prefer that," she said heavily. "How long do you wish to wait?"  
  
"As long as you want," said Aragorn bracingly.  
  
--+-- Faramir's Chambers --+--  
  
"My lord," said the servant, "the King sends tidings."  
  
"What is it?" asked Faramir mildly, distracted by the large scroll that lay on his lap.  
  
"He wishes to cancel his wedding to the Lady Éowyn..."  
  
Faramir leapt off the bed so fast that the scroll unfurled and hit the ground. "What?"  
  
"E-envoys have been sent to all the guests," stammered the servant. The Steward had been so tetchy of late.  
  
"Cancelled?" repeated Faramir, "called off?"  
  
"Oh, no, my lord, you mistake me!" cried the fearful servant. "Not abandoned, delayed."  
  
"Oh." Faramir resumed his place on the bed and began to wind up the scroll. "Why, pray tell? Do you know?"  
  
"Yes, my lord," said the servant, "it is to condition the Lady Éowyn to the ways of Gondor."  
  
"I see," said Faramir, returning to his scroll. "You are dismissed."  
  
The servant scurried out. Faramir set down his scroll again. "There is time," he murmured. The lore of Gondor could wait.  
  
=================== 


	14. Somewhere Quieter

-/Pains in the Heart-  
  
I don't own the characters, just the plot. However, I do have virtual voodoo dolls with which I do unrepeatable things muhuhahaha!  
  
--------------------------------------  
  
---- Minas Tirith ----  
  
Morning sunlight seeped over the sleeping city, dripping lazily into the courtyards and lanes. Aragorn stirred. By now, the sun was beginning to climb; Aragorn put on fresh clothes and made his way down to the dining hall.  
  
Éowyn arrived at almost exactly the same time, immaculate in a white gown that covered her feet, looking both beautiful and awkward. She seemed to glide over to Aragorn. "I know not what to do," she shrugged; "the courts of the Rohirrim are not so formal."  
  
"I shall see to it that you are at ease during meals," smiled Aragorn, his eyes twinkling. "The Stewards were well known for wrapping even the simplest occasions in unnecessary protocol."  
  
Taking Éowyn's arm, he led her to the breakfast table; to the surprise of all present, he sat not in the great chair of the king at the head of the table, but it the chair just below it, and opposite him sat Éowyn. She smiled, knowing that it was for her comfort that he did not assume the royal chair.  
  
"I have eaten in my chambers this past month," said Éowyn; "a maid brought me what ever I wanted, for I knew not how and when the people of the White City broke their fasts."  
  
A great banquet was spread before them, running down the table like a runner through stairs. Aragorn took fried eggs and toast; Éowyn selected hot toast (straight off the fire) and placed some bacon and sausages on her plate. When she reached for second helpings, Aragorn began to laugh. "I can see that uncertainty has placed no damper on your appetite!" he said.  
  
Éowyn chuckled weakly, but stared miserably at her plate for a moment, as though contemplating putting it back. Aragorn watched her and a faint smile tweaked his face.  
  
"Eat to your heart's content, my lady," he said with a wan smile. He paused, considering her pensively. "Éowyn, perhaps we should wait..."  
  
She stopped. "Wait for what, Aragorn?" she said suspiciously.  
  
Aragorn sighed. "You are not yet acquainted with the ways of this land. Would you prefer to postpone the wedding? After all, there are no solid arrangements yet; we may still plan, but put it off longer."  
  
It was a difficult question. Éowyn swallowed hard, looking into his eyes. There was no sign of ulterior motive, or jest, or cruel rejection, just honesty and concern. "I would prefer that," she said heavily. "How long do you wish to wait?"  
  
"As long as you want," said Aragorn bracingly.  
  
---- Faramir's Chambers ----  
  
"My lord," said the servant, "the King sends tidings."  
  
"What is it?" asked Faramir mildly, distracted by the large scroll that lay on his lap.  
  
"He wishes to cancel his wedding to the Lady Éowyn..."  
  
Faramir leapt off the bed so fast that the scroll unfurled and hit the ground. "What?"  
  
"E-envoys have been sent to all the guests," stammered the servant. The Steward had been so tetchy of late.  
  
"Cancelled?" repeated Faramir, "called off?"  
  
"Oh, no, my lord, you mistake me!" cried the fearful servant. "Not abandoned, delayed."  
  
"Oh." Faramir resumed his place on the bed and began to wind up the scroll. "Why, pray tell? Do you know?"  
  
"Yes, my lord," said the servant, "it is to condition the Lady Éowyn to the ways of Gondor."  
  
"I see," said Faramir, returning to his scroll. "You are dismissed."  
  
The servant scurried out. Faramir set down his scroll again. "There is time," he murmured. The lore of Gondor could wait.  
  
=================== 


	15. The King of the Mark

-/Pains in the Heart-  
  
I don't own the characters, just the plot. Please don't sue me!  
  
--------------------------------------  
  
---- Minas Tirith ----  
  
Faramir went down to dinner that night. As he had expected, Aragorn and Éowyn were there also. As Steward, Faramir was obliged to sit at the King's right hand; as future Queen, Éowyn sat on the left. They were facing each other.  
  
He could not explain why he felt happier than he had in some time. The announcement of the postponement of the wedding somehow allowed him to breathe easier: did it make him feel that he had more time? It felt as though a great weight had been lifted from his chest; he wanted to laugh and make merry and to forget all about troubles of the heart.  
  
Éowyn was less at ease. She could not forget how she had rejected Faramir and she blushed every time their eyes met, even if he were simply passing her the potatoes. It was somehow awkward, but Aragorn gave her many reassuring smiles from his high seat.  
  
After dinner, Aragorn was called away to a war council for the Haradrim were threatening South Ithilien. Éowyn knew it was his duty, and he left with many apologies and a quick kiss. Éowyn was alone at the after-dinner party that was customary in the Gondorian summer. She tried to stay friendly but inconspicuous and avoided Faramir whenever possible, but -  
  
"Where is King Elessar?" asked Faramir. Éowyn could see that he was in a good mood - happier than she had ever seen him. After his weeks of moping, it was unsurprising that she found it rather suspicious. "Has he left you all alone?"  
  
"There was a council," she said simply. "It is his duty as King."  
  
"Indeed." Faramir nodded. "Would you care to step outside with me?"  
  
Éowyn racked her brain for an excuse to refuse, but she was not conversing with anyone, and she could not see anyone she knew well.  
  
"Of course," she said, and found that part of her was truthful.  
  
--------  
  
"A beautiful city, is it not?" sighed Faramir. "I spent my life here; though oft I find its routine irksome, my heart could rest nowhere else."  
  
"Yes," said Éowyn. "That is how I feel about Rohan. The green fields, stretching for miles... It hurts my soul that Gondor does not have that. How deprived you have been!"  
  
"Gondor has fields," said Faramir diplomatically, stretching out his arm and moving it in a wide quarter-circle. He was fully aware that they were making small talk. "Tell me, lady, why did you come to Rohan?"  
  
Éowyn hesitated. "I wanted to escape the cage."  
  
"But you spoke of the open fields just a moment ago," a light smile played across Faramir's fair face; he knew he was appealing to the core of her soul, but was trying to remain light-hearted in manner.  
  
"The body is not all that can be caged. The mind can be constrained by poisonous whispers; and the soul constricted by duty," she sighed, "and the heart bound by necessity."  
  
Faramir felt stiffer suddenly. Did she feel as he did? Bound by necessity - "What binds you, my lady?" he asked levelly.  
  
Éowyn glanced at him, then returned her gaze to the City. "It was in Rohan; I was bound by hopelessness, for Wormtongue, my uncle's crooked advisor, as he leeched the King's strength, he wore away my spirit as well as my pride. I dropped from aide to servant in the eyes of Théoden King. The only spark of better times was beyond my reach..."  
  
--------  
  
Far below the balcony on which they stood, down in the fifth circle of the City, a serving-woman was taking her mistress's washing off the line. She glanced up; there stood the Lady Éowyn and Lord Faramir, and her heart was glad, for she had heard tell that the Lord Faramir's heart was turned to the Lady's, and she knew him to be a man of worth: she was not yet so sure of this new King from the North.  
  
She pointed up and cried out to her kinsman, and soon a small crowd was gathered upon that high terrace in the fifth circle, cheering for the Lord and the Lady.  
  
--------  
  
Faramir looked down. For the first time, he had begrudged the openness of the balcony; from this high place in the Tower of Ecthelion, a man could be seen quite clearly from the Third Gate, above the second circle of Minas Tirith. In happier days, oft had he sat in this very spot, he and Boromir, and chatted with the people who passed below.  
  
"Come," said Faramir. "We shall talk somewhere quieter."  
  
Faramir took Éowyn's elbow, gently but firmly, and led her through the gathered guests. They slipped out unnoticed, for all attention was on one of the Hobbits, who was singing a song.  
  
Faramir led her down labyrinthine passages, so that she wondered if she could return to the party without asking for directions. Suddenly Faramir stopped. He folded back a tapestry to reveal a hidden staircase that twisted up round a corner after about ten steps.  
  
Éowyn started to doubt Faramir's motives for the first time since Aragorn had left as he led her up. Around the corner was another tapestry twenty steps up; they passed through and Éowyn found herself by the double doors preceding the passage where Faramir's room lay. Her stomach knotted in fear. There were no guards.  
  
"This is quiet enough," said Faramir. "Now I can speak my mind."  
  
"I cannot deny what I feel for you," he said, "nor would I, for I would not deceive you. Just tell me, ere I go mad with not knowing, could you have loved me?"  
  
Éowyn was gobsmacked. "How am I to answer such a question?" she said.  
  
"Just tell me the truth," said Faramir sadly, "for that will be enough for me. Had Aragorn not returned, could you ever have turned your heart to mine?"  
  
"I- I-" she did not know how to answer. If she said yes, he might try to challenge Aragorn, or tell him; if she said no, then she would have to face his reaction, and she was unsure of what that would be - anger, sadness, or worse-would he feign happiness?  
  
"I beg of you, do not pretend to waver, for I could not bear that either."  
  
Éowyn took a deep breath. "If I were in such a position," she said, as Faramir held his breath, "I would say to you, yes."  
  
Faramir did not choke or splutter. He turned his sea-grey eyes away. "I see." Éowyn saw only the floor. She was rejecting Faramir again, but this time it was to his face, and was far worse.  
  
Suddenly Faramir twirled round; his fingers intertwined with Éowyn's and he swung her hands over her head. His body pinned her to the wall and his lips smothered her. It was a hungry, needy kiss, tender but forceful. Éowyn closed her eyes: she didn't want to see his face, look into the eyes of the one making her betray Aragorn. She made a lightning decision. She began to kiss back.  
  
===================  
  
Hehehe, all you A/É fans (no, wait - I'm an A/É fan!) are going nuts, but there's a reason for Éowyn's madness. 


	16. Mutual Decision

-/Pains in the Heart-  
  
I don't own the characters, just the plot. Please don't sue me!  
  
--------------------------------------  
  
---- Minas Tirith ----  
  
As Éowyn had hoped, Faramir's body relaxed and his hands loosened their hold. She immediately wrenched her lips away, and tugged her hands out of his, and thrust her body through the gap. She pelted down the corridor, not trusting to the secret passage; "Éowyn, wait!" shouted Faramir, but she kept on running, making for Éomer's room, for he had not attended the party.  
  
--------  
  
She was almost at his door when Faramir caught up with her, snatching her arm. "I - I thought that was what you wanted," he panted.  
  
"No," gasped Éowyn. "It was what you wanted, as you knew well.  
  
"You were willing," he accused. "You did not pull away. You returned the kiss."  
  
"You did not ask for consent!"  
  
The door opened. "What is the meaning of this?" shouted Éomer. The King of the Mark was dressed in simple breeches and tunic, and seemed to have barely left his bed. His eyes, blurred with fatigue, rested on Faramir's hand, frozen around Éowyn's wrist; his expression softened into a air of concerned understanding. "Éowyn, come inside. I beg that you wait here, my lord."  
  
Ashamed tears dripped down Éowyn's face. A fearful look spread across Faramir's face. Gondor had long called itself superior to Rohan, but the Mark had a new king, one who (Faramir was sure) would not hesitate to beat the Steward of Gondor to a bloody pulp for violating his sister. One who would give chase if Faramir fled. It was best to get a head start.  
  
--------  
  
"What happened?" Éomer was not by nature insensitive, but was cursed with frankness. His sister was sitting on his bed, beginning to hyperventilate slightly.  
  
"He - he-"  
  
Éomer crouched and took Éowyn's shoulders, looking deep into her eyes. "All our lives, we have been together," he said softly. "Every trial you faced, I was facing it with you. Every time Wormtongue looked at you, I flinched too. What happened?"  
  
Éowyn raised her eyes to her brother's, and saw understanding, and love. It was not the frenzied love of Faramir, or even the gentle love of Aragorn, but the deep bond that develops between a brother and sister during times of strife. She felt like a child again, demanding that Éomer give her a leg- up so she could clamber onto a pony. Éomer would not let her down.  
  
"He - kissed me," she said simply. Now she said it, it sounded silly, but it had not been so.  
  
"I see," said Éomer flatly. He strode to the door and flung it open, sweeping out his sword as it opened. Éowyn followed cautiously. "It is as I expected," muttered Éomer. "The swine has fled. He will not be difficult to follow."  
  
Éomer sheathed his sword and strode quickly up the passage until he came to a round antechamber, where he took out Gúthwinë again; the dinner-guests were just leaving their party, and Faramir was having difficulty passing through the throng. Éomer's face cleared a path for him, for all stood aside when they caught sight of the robust King of the Mark of Rohan, carrying his sword with a face like thunder.  
  
"Is what my sister says true?" he demanded. Faramir spun round and stood defiantly before Éomer. He hesitated. "Drop your pretence," snarled Éomer. "I know you were listening at the door."  
  
"It is true," said Faramir with a flash of his eyes.  
  
Éomer pointed his sword at Faramir; its honed point was inches from the young Steward's breast. "Do not touch my sister again; I do not want to sully Gúthwinë with your blood. I shall not report to the King of this, but if there is a next time you will not be fit to plead your case. Begone from my sight!"  
  
With a deadly glare at Éomer, Faramir slid down a side-passage without a word. His pride had been hurt, but he had been in the wrong. Though Éowyn felt as though she had somehow betrayed Faramir, she could not help but feel strongly reminded of the last time Éomer had threatened a forward suitor thus: Gríma son of Galmód.  
  
=================== 


	17. Giving In

-/Pains in the Heart-  
  
I don't own the characters, just the plot. Please don't sue me!  
  
--------------------------------------  
  
Keep those reviews coming, flame me if you want, anything! Just review!  
  
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---- Minas Tirith: The War Council ----  
  
"... they cannot be restrained by the Rangers of Ithilien!" protested Belegaron. "They were sparse even before the coming of the Shadow."  
  
"And how exactly would you know that?" sneered Nimaethor. "Do you remember those ancient days?"  
  
"They are not so ancient as Gondor would like to believe," said Aragorn mildly, ending the argument ere it started. "The Shadow re-entered Mordor barely one lifetime of Men ago. I doubt not that there are men in this City who remember a time without it."  
  
Aragorn cared deeply about the borders of his new Kingdom, but did not care for the manner in which this council was held. Every single one of these elders was selected for their connections, not qualification or experience. Sam Gamgee knew more about sailing than these men did about warfare.  
  
Suddenly he jerked back in his chair in shock: a flash fear, and a vision of closed eyes had just flickered across his mind. Éowyn's eyes. Then it passed and he tried to rejoin the conversation. "Enough of this," said Aragorn. "I shall take a force to South Ithilien to head them off."  
  
There was an awkward silence. The councillors looked uneasy. Belegaron, the oldest and 'wisest' of the assembled advisers, acted as spokesman for the group; with a wheezy cough, he said, "My liege, perhaps it would be unwise for you to leave so early in your reign."  
  
Aragorn's face was completely unreadable. "As you wish," he said flatly. "Who then would you suggest?"  
  
"Faramir son of Denethor would go," suggested another adviser, whose name Aragorn was unsure of. He was from the vale of the upper Gilrain. "The people love him, and it is part of his princedom."  
  
"We shall continue this meeting when he is present," said Aragorn. He did not want to delegate such important tasks without Faramir's consent; also he had felt another stab of emotion - a different kind of fear; not shock, but foreboding. A sword shone in a crowded room, and then it was gone. He knew immediately what was happening, excused himself and hurried to the party.  
  
--------  
  
She was not there. The people seemed to be avoiding their King, and Aragorn did not understand why. What had happened to her while arrogant men wasted his time? He hastened then to Éowyn's chambers, but still could not find her. It was as he wandered the halls, on the point of calling her name, when Faramir suddenly erupted from a side-passage.  
  
The Steward started when he saw Aragorn; his pupils contracted in a way Aragorn associated with fear. "My lord!" said Faramir, startled.  
  
"Good evening, Faramir," frowned Aragorn; "have you seen the Lady Éowyn?"  
  
Faramir just barely stifled a gasp. "I believe she has gone to see King Éomer."  
  
"Thank you," nodded Aragorn uncertainly and he turned into a different passage. Something very odd had happened in his absence, but what? He doubled back. "Oh, and Faramir?"  
  
Faramir froze. "Yes, my lord?"  
  
"Come see me in my chambers in the morning. It is a matter of utmost importance, but I am weary tonight."  
  
"Yes, my lord. Good night."  
  
---- Minas Tirith: Faramir's Chambers ----  
  
Breathless, Faramir made it to his rooms. What had come over him? Effectively committing treason and then acting like a sullen teenager... Éowyn was the only woman alive who could cost him his self-control. Though he felt nothing but remorse for giving in to temptation, he could not help but have enjoyed kissing her.  
  
'But it won't happen again,' thought Faramir determinedly. 'No matter how hard it gets, I shall restrain myself - even if the pain kills me first.' The nasty voice in his brain added, 'and after, if you forget your vow.'  
  
Éomer was quite bad enough, but Faramir shuddered to think of what would happen if Aragorn heard about his little outburst. He seemed suspicious already. Faramir was sure that none of the witnesses to his and Éomer's confrontation would speak, for fear of Éomer's wrath: if he was keeping silence, then so would they.  
  
There was only one thing for it: he would have to leave Minas Tirith. No matter how long he was away in fair Ithilien, Faramir had always called the White City his home. He had been named Prince of Emyn Arnen now, and would have to abide there if he were to rule. It would be a good way of purging his soul of Éowyn, and finding a bride. The title of Steward would have to pass to one of his bloodline, or it would go to Dol Amroth on the coast, or even to Rohan - and the latter above all was to be avoided. Times had changed, but patriotism had not, and Gondor did not need a second Kinslaying.  
  
The last of the Line of the Stewards had to perform his duty. He had to leave.  
  
=================== 


	18. Spare Her

-/Pains in the Heart-  
  
I don't own the characters, just the plot. Please don't sue me!  
  
--------------------------------------  
  
---- Minas Tirith: Faramir's Chambers ----  
  
If he were to leave, it would have to be tonight, before Aragorn could meet with him. There was only one reason for this rendezvous: he knew about the kiss. Faramir got the feeling of conflict once again, as though he was being torn in two by warring factions in his mind.  
  
One, the side that was permanently enraged, screamed that Éomer had broken his end of the bargain, that it was only fitting that Faramir should go back on his promise, too. The other tried to quell the first, pleading that a deal, even one that one side did not keep, remained valid until both ends broke it; that was the side of the noble Faramir that had had a chance of wooing Éowyn. The fey side had not existed before.  
  
His gentle spirit was no pushover, but every one of Denethor's subtle taunts that his love of lore made him the weaker brother, and every time Boromir had gained all the praise for a group effort... a tiny store of bitterness had begun to well up in Faramir's soul. It had accumulated, and now was screaming for release.  
  
---- Minas Tirith: Éomer's Chambers ----  
  
"Are you sure everything is all right?" said Aragorn desperately. Éowyn was sitting in Éomer's room, apparently fine. What, then, had caused these visions? Was he going mad? "Nothing happened when I was gone?"  
  
Éowyn glanced at her brother. "I slipped," she lied. "Faramir was escorting me back to my room after the party and I stumbled on the step. Éomer's room was closest. I am somewhat shaken, of course, but unhurt."  
  
Aragorn was not sure whether he believed this or not. It all seemed very convenient, forced somehow. "Yes... I met Faramir on my way here. He seemed very tense."  
  
"He was very concerned about Éowyn," said Éomer, proud of his little sister's excellent lie. She was making it up as she went along. "He thinks he is responsible for her fall."  
  
"He has convinced himself that he tripped me with his sheath," said Éowyn with a wry smile. "He is very protective of me."  
  
Within a few minutes, Aragorn was taking Éowyn back. She could find nothing to say to him, but no words were needed. He took her hand into his and they walked thus, arriving at her door in what seemed like no time at all.  
  
"Are you-"  
  
"Yes, Aragorn," grinned Éowyn. "I will be fine in the morning. Good night."  
  
"Good night, my lady."  
  
--------  
  
Faramir's heart thudded in his chest. His horse was saddled and he had provisions enough for the short journey to the Emyn Arnen. He wanted to bid Éowyn farewell. He knocked lightly on her door, for he had not yet given in to his dark side and kept at least some honour, though he did not usually consider entering a maiden's bedchamber in the night honourable.  
  
The door opened silently. Her bed was not far from the door and a beam of light from the torchlit hall fell across her face. She was sleeping.  
  
As Faramir tiptoed across the floor, she stirred and rolled over. He would have to go round to the other side - or no... no, Éomer broke his promise.  
  
Quietly as possible, Faramir sat himself gently onto the bed beside her. She slept fretfully, and wore naught but a thin gown of translucent white. Faramir's heart beat faster. He leaned gently forward and kissed her cheek.  
  
Her eyes fluttered opened. Her troubled brow deepened in recognition.  
  
"Faramir?" she breathed. "What- what are you doing?"  
  
"Saying goodbye," he whispered. "I'm leaving for Ithilien tonight."  
  
Éowyn sat up. Somehow, she didn't want him to go. "Why?"  
  
"It is my duty," he shrugged.  
  
"But why now?"  
  
"Éomer has broken his part of the bargain. Aragorn knows about my... mistake. I dare not await the morning."  
  
"Éomer has broken nothing," frowned Éowyn.  
  
There was a knock at the door. "Éowyn?" It was Aragorn. He pushed the door further ajar. Fear flooded Faramir. He knew how it would look to Aragorn: a spurned suitor sitting in a scantily-clad Éowyn's bedchamber. Not good.  
  
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	19. Thoughts

~@-/Pains in the Heart\-@~  
  
Why do I keep writing a frigging disclaimer? You *know* I'm not Tolkien. You *know* I don't own the characters or the places - hell, I don't even own the pens in my pencilcase! I found them on the floor in the Chemistry lab - a Biro and a Staedtler! And the end of the Biro is *chewed*. How gross is that? But I haven't seen *my* pen since that Halloween maths exam...  
  
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Flames will be fed to Olórin's pet Balrog.  
  
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writerbrat: Well, the filmmakers ruined him first. I'm just carrying on a horrendous tradition. (Curse me. I would be ranting about myself if it wasn't - well - me. They're cutting the Houses of Healing scene, you know. I'm wondering if they're gonna make Galadriel marry Aragorn now.  
  
Ithil: Dude, it's fan fiction. Of course everything's screwy. This is fanon not canon.  
  
Innocence/indulgence: Oh, he does :) or does he? Read the next chappie!  
  
Stephanie: Of course she isn't... but then how do we know? She only talks at the end of ROTK and in that Appendix.  
  
The Dark Wanderer: You'll see...  
  
Lúthien Tinúviel 8: Don't worry. It gets better. Thanks for the correction, I'll check that out. Lol!  
  
Rosa Cotton: It's the union-of-souls thing and intuition.  
  
mousie2: I'm not doing too bad, to be honest. Maybe it's cos I've been wearing my One Ring (£12.99 @ Argos but I don't care) to every exam. Tomorrow's the last day *starts dancing and celebrating*. We fanfickers, we sacrifice everything for the story, right? You're off? Are you in college? Damn you! :) Here's the next bit.  
  
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Now, on with the story! Well, okay, I haven't kept or broken any promises yet, but I will soon. -------------------+-------------------  
  
--+-- Minas Tirith: The Cells --+--  
  
Faramir was spent; painful grief and suicidal guilt paralysed him, so that he sat stiff and distracted in his cell. All the wells of bitterness were spent now. How could he have done such a thing? What had he done? What would he have done? What would happen now?  
  
He wanted to turn back time, and slip a note under her door instead of... instead of what he had done. What would his father say? All Faramir wanted to do now was weep. He had never felt so guilty in his life. It was an appalling crime, and if he were in Aragorn's place the perpetrator would be put to death, or banished at best. But there was no going back.  
  
Faramir realised that he had lost control of himself: what if it happened again? Not just concerning Éowyn - would a day come when he killed someone for annoying him? Would a time come when bitterness consumed him, and he killed for release? Who could he be killing? Éomer, Aragorn - his stomach knotted - Éowyn? He suddenly pictured her mutilated body, her blood on his sword... Faramir unfroze, and stumbled to the gully that ran between the cells, and he vomited.  
  
He had already damaged Éowyn beyond repair; spoiled her; ravaged her. He had never wanted to die before now. Once again, Faramir had no control over his actions. His sword was locked away.  
  
--+-- The Houses of Healing --+--  
  
The moon was passing westward, and Aragorn still sat beside Éowyn, her hands clutched in his, kissing them and weeping. Tears were running down her face, too. It was another moment that needed no words. At last their tears were stilled.  
  
"I thought I could lose you," he said.  
  
"It was not so serious as all that?" said Éowyn, alarmed.  
  
"It was," nodded Aragorn. "Shock and fear had spent much of your energy, and you were slipping away."  
  
"But, how?" Éowyn did not understand. "I ate much at dinner."  
  
"Your spirit, Éowyn," said Aragorn gently. He smiled. "Your appetite was not the problem. Something was wearing you down, crushing your spirit. All I could do was pray to the Valar it was not me, and pray that you would be saved."  
  
They were silent. "Aragorn?" said Éowyn. He looked away from the window. "A time will come when I pass on, and you will still be here."  
  
"I know." It was almost a whisper. "But remember always that you are descended of Morwen of Lossarnach, that your people called Steelsheen. She was your mother's mother, and was of the line of Dol Amroth. There is hope. There is always hope. And if hope fails, there is always love."  
  
Aragorn wrapped his arms around her, and they embraced for some time. "You need your rest," said Aragorn. "I have matters to attend to."  
  
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Sorry it's so short but it's my lil bro's turn on the computer. I'll be back later. 


	20. Duel of the Fates

~@-/Pains in the Heart\-@~  
  
Why do I keep writing a frigging disclaimer? You *know* I'm not Tolkien. You *know* I don't own the characters or the places - hell, I don't even own the pens in my pencilcase! I found them on the floor in the Chemistry lab - a Biro and a Staedtler! And the end of the Biro is *chewed*. How gross is that? But I haven't seen *my* pen since that Halloween maths exam...  
  
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Don't flame me!  
  
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--+-- Faramir's Cell --+--  
  
Faramir hastily picked himself up off the floor, where he had lain limp by the gully. Low voices were muttering outside the door to the cells, and he heard the gate shudder open; Aragorn, Éomer, Prince Imrahil, Legolas Thranduilion, and Gimli son of Glóin. Behind them, the hobbits Meriadoc and Peregrin peered in. Faramir wished they wouldn't. The small gate in the cage-like front wall opened. Éomer pushed through first. He drew his sword.  
  
"I swore that I would kill you if you laid another hand on Éowyn," he snarled. "You have done more than that, though, haven't you?"  
  
Aragorn flung out an arm to block Éomer's passage. "This is my fight now."  
  
"She is my sister," protested Éomer; "I shall avenge her honour myself."  
  
"This is out of your hands," Aragorn insisted. "Someone once said to me, 'A king will have his way in his own hall, be it folly or wisdom.' This is my hall, and it may be that it is my folly. Son of Denethor! Do you repent of your crime?"  
  
"I do," said Faramir, to the floor. His voice shook with remorse, and he did not dare look Aragorn in the face.  
  
"And do you give up all claim to the Lady Éowyn?" he continued. Faramir looked up this time.  
  
"I do not repent of my love of the Lady," he said.  
  
Aragorn nodded curtly. "So be it." He drew Andúril; fear crowded Faramir's eyes though he did not look away. Then the King strode out of the cell and into the small room beyond the cell area. "Húrin!" he called. Húrin, the Warden of the Keys, came to the king. "Fetch this man a sword and escort him to the training area."  
  
--+-- The Houses of Healing --+--  
  
Éowyn could not get to sleep. She feared the content of her dreams: Faramir's attack had been bad enough once. What was this 'business' of Aragorn's?  
  
A fist of dread tightened on her heart. Suppose he did something drastic? Where was Faramir? Even after what he had done, Éowyn did not want to see Faramir hurt, or killed... no, Aragorn was not so rash. That was what she loved about him. It was what she had loved about-  
  
He was a monster in her eyes, but he had not always been so. She recalled the Houses of Healing, and their time together when Aragorn was away. But then glimpses of a fist smashing into an end table, and of a face coldly glaring into hers, desiring to maim her beyond recovery...  
  
Why had he changed? What had driven him to madness? Rejection could not do that. Éowyn suddenly wanted to learn more about her attacker, listen to him, help him. And then she realised what she was thinking. She was a Shieldmaiden no more. If this had happened in another time, back in Rohan, she would have - a flash of Andúril, swept out of its sheath, had just passed before her eyes, blinding her as it gleamed in the gloom. She knew at once what was happening - maybe her brain had known before she could process it. Aragorn was going to kill Faramir.  
  
--+-- The Training Room --+--  
  
Faramir stepped onto the floor, cold fire in his eyes. He remembered this room; here he had learned to fight, alongside the other Rangers of Ithilien and Guards of the City. He remembered also the conditions of such fights as these; only one of them would walk away today. They fought for the love of a fair lady, who lay sleeping... another curl of guilt squeezed his heart. But even if he won, she would never have him now, but it was a matter of principle: this fight would not decide who would have Éowyn, but who was worthy of her.  
  
It was as Faramir mused that Andúril swung, gleaming, out of nowhere. It was about to strike Faramir's chest when he tugged the heavy guardsman's blade into place; the swords clashed with a jarring ring that reverberated along Faramir's arm. Aragorn's move had been more powerful than expected - powerful enough to kill him with that one stroke.  
  
Andúril whirled away and made to slash at Faramir's abdomen; again, he parried. This time, the blow was even stronger, and the sword was almost shaken from Faramir's hand. The honed edges scraped as both men pulled back. Again and again, Aragorn struck; again and again, Faramir had trouble keeping up, surprised at Aragorn's vigour for a man that had not slept. Faramir had at least gained a few hours in the cell.  
  
--+-- The Houses of Healing --+--  
  
She stumbled out of bed, not caring to put on a robe. She opened the door and was blinded and tore down the corridor like a deer, each bare foot slamming into the floor painfully, rhythmically. Perhaps she was too late. At last she stumbled out into the courtyard. The cobbles hurt her feet, and the morning cold slapped her; it stabbed into her pores like a thousand frozen needles, but she had to keep going.  
  
He would have been locked up; Éowyn ran into the Guard House. The walls and floor were of rough stone, and a sharp pebble pierced her foot when she entered. A sudden clash of swords echoed into the foyer. But which hallway?  
  
--+-- The Training Room --+--  
  
Faramir lunged, almost stumbling with the force behind his sword; he drove the sword straight between arm and chest. His sword plunged deep into the wooden bench behind Aragorn; Aragorn winced as he felt blood slide down his arm just above the elbow. Faramir had just barely missed. Aragorn's arm bore a deep slice.  
  
The blood-lust was ebbing. Aragorn was starting to think. He could not kill his Steward. He hesitated, not wanting to strike an unarmed man; the sword was still stuck in the wood.  
  
"Strike him, Aragorn!" called Gimli from the sidelines. "You don't get points for being fair!"  
  
"Remember what he did," said Éomer coldly.  
  
It was at that moment that Faramir wrenched the sword free, and swung it up with force enough to knock Aragorn's head off. It shimmered in the air about to hit its mark...  
  
"Strider!" shouted Pippin.  
  
But it beheaded naught but air. Aragorn had moved quickly. He was behind Faramir by now; the Steward shrank away, shocked, but stumbled and at the same time tried to duck a blow that never came. He twisted to the ground and fell on his back. Propped on his elbows, his hand scrabbled desperately for the sword. He stopped. Andúril's point was resting on his breast.  
  
"I hoped it would not come to this," said Aragorn solemnly, without any trace of delight, "but I have taken up Éomer's mantle, and as such I must keep his promises."  
  
--+--^--+--  
  
There was a dull thud as of metal hitting wood. Éowyn could hear it - it was on the other side of the wall, but this corridor ran far before it turned. She turned right immediately, and began searching desperately for a passage that could take her to the door. She turned right again as soon as she could, but it led only to a flight of steps.  
  
Fleeing down the passage again, she heard a roar of effort further down. Tears began to flood her face. "Wait, wait, please wait," she sobbed. "Aragorn, Faramir, don't..."  
  
Éowyn stopped to mop up the tears; she could see nothing through them. And then it leapt out of the shadows: the passage she desired. It cut back into the wall diagonally, so that she would not have seen it otherwise. Flickering torchlight made the shadows within dance. A sword lay discarded just within view.  
  
By instinct, Éowyn snatched a sword as she ran into the hall. "Don't!" she screamed. The duellists looked round. Aragorn's sword was on Faramir, who lay on the ground. "Don't kill him!"  
  
All eyes were on her and the sparse cloth of her nightgown. There were about half a dozen people standing just behind her, where she had come in through the opening. Aragorn straightened up, lowering his sword to his side. He looked between Faramir and Éowyn and an odd look crossed his face.  
  
He took a breath as though to speak, but hesitated. "Do you love him, Éowyn?"  
  
Éowyn was taken aback. "What?"  
  
"I said, do you love him? If that is the case then I will not hinder you, nor will I kill him. I want you to be happy," Aragorn hesitated again, then continued sadly, "and if that is not by my side then so be it."  
  
"I-"  
  
"Éowyn, do you love him or not? It is a simple question, to decide a man's fate. Choose swiftly!"  
  
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	21. No Middle Ground

~@-/Pains in the Heart\-@~  
  
I don't own Middle-earth or the people in it. You don't *seriously* need a disclaimer by now? Not that you read them. Do you? Sad, sad children. I could be calling the load of you S-O-Bs and you wouldn't know the difference. (I'm not calling you S-O-Bs by the way.) Just read the story. Read the fruit of my fingers. Don't waste time on the disclaimer. ... You just don't get the hint, do you?  
  
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Don't flame me!  
  
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Common Welsh Green: Thanks! I fell to a worthy opponent - that has got to be the best cliff-hanger of all time. Funny you should post that; I just finished rereading TTT and I've got ROTK open here at like page 23. Gotta read it in time for the move. Five days! *screams in excitement and does a little dance* [sigh] Three and a quarter hours... bliss!  
  
mousie2: It's hard to write this stuff y'know! I know what's going to happen, but it's difficult trying to *make* it happen.  
  
Rosa Cotton: I do indeed. It's more 'fun'.  
  
Ithil: Completely bastardising Faramir, as I am doing now, was unacceptable. The difference is, I'm not passing this off as Tolkien.  
  
Necole: You wouldn't believe how gratifying (and fun) it is to read reviews like yours! Read on.  
  
The Dark Wanderer: It was a horrible choice, but it had to be made. -------------------  
  
We're getting inside the characters' heads here. I thought it might be interesting to see how different people interpret the same things. Enjoy!  
  
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--+-- The Training Room --+--  
  
Éowyn's breathing was ragged, both from stress and exhaustion. "What will you do?" she said.  
  
"If you do not love him," said Aragorn serenely, though pain was in his eyes, "I must kill him for his crime: it is the law of this City. If you do love him, I will spare him, for though he has done you wrong, in other circumstances you might have been willing."  
  
"I am to choose a man's life?" said Éowyn. She could not quite believe what she was hearing. Why was Aragorn being so cruel?  
  
"It is not a decision I desire to force you to make, but I would not take a man's life unjustly, and it shall be honourable if I must."  
  
-+-Faramir-+-  
  
Why was she hesitating? Was there a chance... no, of course not. He did not dare rise from the floor, even though Aragorn's sword was not before him. His mind called out to her, 'Éowyn, Éowyn, I am sorry! A madness took me!' but his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth and anguish struck him dumb. The words sounded odd even in his head, but Faramir had not known that they were the words of Boromir to Frodo on Amon Hen months before.  
  
But they were true nonetheless. Now Faramir saw that he had transformed, and was now returned; his rage had burned itself out, but too late. It had landed him too deep in despair for rescue. Her choice was obvious: she would have him put to death, and justly so, but did not want to see him die. It brought Faramir grim comfort that she retained memories of their time together in the Houses of Healing, but not enough. His heart thudded in his chest, praying that she would say yes, yet wanting justice to be served - even if it killed him.  
  
His soul pleaded desperately with Éowyn, willing her to look at him, and to see into his heart, wanting above all else for her to understand.  
  
-+-Éomer-+-  
  
Stunned, Éomer searched his younger sister's face for answers. She had come to many crossroads, and always had her decision been swift and yet well-chosen. What confused her? What had Faramir done to her? But then, what had been done to Faramir?  
  
What had caused his metamorphosis? His behaviour had been utterly uncharacteristic. It was as though a madness had taken him - the words rang oddly through Éomer's head, as though they had been placed there by some external force (for so great was the force that Faramir now exerted that his plea penetrated the minds of all those present). What was happening?  
  
-+-Pippin-+-  
  
Horrible thing to do - absolutely horrible. Not like Faramir at all, really. Pippin gazed up at Éowyn; she stood frozen, as she had after the Witch-king's attack. This was terrible. He felt like an unwelcome guest at a funeral. *Madness*, the whole situation (and Pippin was too confused to notice that he hadn't been thinking about that at all.) And poor old Strider, stuck between his friend and his country. Such a very *moral* fellow, and so sombre.  
  
Faramir, still on the ground, looked frozen, too. He wasn't fidgeting or looking around, just staring at Éowyn, staring intently at her face. What was he doing? Pippin wanted to say something, but he could find nothing; besides, it seemed neither the time nor the place. Poor Faramir. Poor Éowyn. Poor Strider, too, for that matter. He was going to lose someone dear to him today: his friend or his bride.  
  
-+-Merry-+-  
  
Merry gulped. He didn't understand how a man like Faramir could snap like that - there was nothing like that in the Shire, or in Buckland at any rate. Of course there was mischief, like Sam's old nemesis Ted Sandyman, but never malevolence. From a hobbit's point of view, a fellow went straight from mischief to madness - no, not madness, to evil. They'd never considered middle-ground before.  
  
And all the time, his eyes never left Éowyn. He had seen her like this before: stern and proud as a queen, but yet fair and wide-eyed as a little girl. It had been on the Pelennor, and now she was before quite a different enemy, and that enemy was herself.  
  
-+-Aragorn-+-  
  
His head drooped. Éowyn's silence was enough. Her heart was torn. She loved them both. He could barely grip his sword, for his hand shook like a leaf, but none could see. All eyes were on Éowyn and Faramir. He did not think about Faramir's motives, and as his mind was turned not to Faramir's, he heard not the call.  
  
This was the moment. The time had come.  
  
-+-Éowyn-+-  
  
She looked between them, and straightened her back. She took a deep breath and opened her mouth to speak, when a voice - Faramir's voice - rang through her mind, clear as the day that was now breaking over Gondor.  
  
'Éowyn, Éowyn, I am sorry! A madness took me! Do not heed the darkness, for darkness possessed me, and I would die rather than walk in it once more, but it has passed, Éowyn. Walk in the light, as I do, whether I am far away or no! I am sorry.'  
  
The voice died away. Éowyn closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them, they were full of tears. "I cannot choose," she said, the whine of tears tingeing her voice. "I do not will his death, but I do not love him beyond - beyond you, Aragorn. Kill him not, but send him away, far away, until we are wed at the very least."  
  
Then the tears flowed freely now, for it sounded false coming from her mouth: false and forced. They would get the wrong idea, both of them: they would think that she wanted Aragorn for his crown alone, and that her heart desired Faramir instead. All was lost. Her foolish heart had cost her the only chance of happiness in her life.  
  
-+-^-+-  
  
Andúril clattered to the floor, but Aragorn was already halfway to Éowyn. He took her head in his hands and laid it on his shoulder, wrapping a protective arm around her back. "Shh," he murmured, "it is all right. I shall spare him. It is all right."  
  
They stood thus for some time, and the others slipped out slowly; Éomer lingered long by the opening, glancing between floor and ceiling, until he left at last. Faramir was standing now, staring at the floor on the other side of the room from Aragorn and Éowyn. He glanced at them, just once, and saw at last that they truly belonged together, and he was glad. She had found happiness, and that was enough.  
  
At last they broke apart, and Éowyn gazed at her feet, biting her lip. Aragorn turned to Faramir. "You shall go to Ithilien," he said gently, "and I shall send thence all that remain of the Rangers. The Haradrim are marching. Go. Send news with your men, and come not yourself: not until you are sent for, or until you alone of the Rangers of Ithilien remain."  
  
Aragorn's tone was gentle, and not commanding. He was softly sending Faramir into exile; for how long, he knew not. But all their hearts desired it. "Yes, my lord," said Faramir with a curt nod, and he left. The horse in the stables still awaited him.  
  
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	22. Being Yourself

~@-/Pains in the Heart\-@~  
  
I don't own Middle-earth or the people in it. You don't *seriously* need a disclaimer by now? Not that you read them. Do you? Sad, sad children. I could be calling the load of you S-O-Bs and you wouldn't know the difference. (I'm not calling you S-O-Bs by the way.) Just read the story. Read the fruit of my fingers. Don't waste time on the disclaimer. ... You just don't get the hint, do you?  
  
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Don't flame me!  
  
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Lúthien Tinuviel8: Thank you for reading on! No, I haven't checked Chap. 16, but I keep meaning to (as you do) and you're probably the first person to ever call me "on top of things"! I'm just looking at it now... right at the bottom of the page, about the Kinslaying? Nah, that's intentional - this is for those unfamiliar with Gondorian history:  
  
The Rohirrim are descended from the Northmen; Valacar the 20th King married a northern princess, and people in Gondor were pretty p-o-ed that their next king was half-'barbarian' and not pure Númenorean, when young Eldacar took the throne, a civil war started. Eldacar was exiled and his heir Ornendil was executed by the usurper Castamir. After ten years, Eldacar returned to claim the throne and the line of kings continued, but there were considerably less Gondorians to rule after that war.  
  
ANYWAYS Aragorn is very difficult to write in this story. Thank you - I don't want the whole story to pivot on Faramir's punishment.  
  
Common Welsh Green: Lol, yes *I* can.  
  
Writerbrat: Yeah, but Merry came under the Black Breath and never saw Éowyn in the Houses of Healing before Aragorn healed her. Pippin remembers what she looked like "in a swoon". What's wrong with Faramir?! I redeemed him! :)  
  
Necole: No, he's not turning into an ass.  
  
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Where's the rest o' yeh? Read! And, moreover, review! I've just uploaded a little parody called "The Meeting of the Ways" - it's an argument between Gollum, Yoda and Dobby. I take notions sometimes. Sorry this one took so long, I just couldn't get the words out.  
  
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--+-- The Training Room --+--  
  
Benches lined the walls of the training room, reserved for the teachers who judged the ability, and the students who judged the men. It was said that a man's sword-style said volumes about his character, but teachers will just as easy pass a crooked man who kills his opponent through dirty tactics, as they will an upright citizen and honourable player who knocks his foe out.  
  
But the two who sat there then judged nothing.  
  
"Please, just talk to me," said Aragorn. "I didn't know your choice would be so difficult."  
  
"Matters of the heart are rarely clear-cut," sighed Éowyn. She was silent for a moment. "I might have loved him, had I never met you."  
  
"Éowyn, if you would rather be with him, I understand."  
  
"There is nothing to understand," she insisted. "You are here with me now: you, and not Faramir. The choice in my heart was whether or not I wanted him dead. I feared that - that you would get the wrong idea if I chose to save him. My feelings for him could never surpass what I feel for you."  
  
"Yet the feelings are there," said Aragorn despondently.  
  
"Why can you not accept this?" cried Éowyn, on the verge of tears.  
  
"Because I love you," said Aragorn simply, "and I do not want to see you unhappy."  
  
With that, he took Éowyn's hand, and kissed it, and left, bound for his chambers for a wash and a rest.  
  
--+-- The Fields of the Pelennor --+--  
  
Faramir laughed, feeling the thrill of the wind on his face, and the rhythmic thudding of his galloping horse, and the reassuring gentle slap of the flat of his sheath against his upper thigh, and the nudge of the saddle- bags. This was where he belonged, just as much as the City. Faramir smiled, thinking that this delight he would share with the future Stewardess of Gondor, whoever she might be.  
  
Soon the wall of the Pelennor was behind him, and a shadow passed over his heart. In the corner of his eyes, he glimpsed the sheen of the rising sun off Minas Anor, so that all the world beyond seemed dim and dusty. Freedom lay ahead, and yet how much was too much? Faramir rode the seven leagues to Osgiliath, and crossed the makeshift bridge (a chunk from the deck of one of the Corsairs of Umbar). Turning south, he perceived the black mass of the Emyn Arnen. He slowed to a trot, absorbing the fair airs of Ithilien, feeling content at last.  
  
--+-- The Training Room --+--  
  
Éowyn watched him go. The darkness was beginning to fall on her: the horror of what she had been through. Shock and desperation had numbed the pain earlier, but now as she sat in the well-lit hall, she felt again this hot flesh against her, the searing pain as he had plunged into her, the imprint of his hands on her buttocks. Her heart felt as though it had seized up, dried up, and she withered, losing control for a moment, slipping to the floor.  
  
Shaking, she climbed to her feet; suddenly Aragorn was behind her, supporting her. He placed one arm around her waist, and held her hand. "You have been through much," he said; "I cannot comprehend what you are going through."  
  
--+-- Éowyn's Chambers --+--  
  
Aragorn sat her down on her bed and went into her bathroom. He began to turn the screw, pulling water up through the pipes in the walls of the Tower of Ecthelion. When he had turned it enough, he let the water flow into the bath.  
  
"A bath shall make you feel better," he said. "I will send a servant with fresh towels and clothes; I shall return later."  
  
His words were brief, but soft and to the point. Éowyn nodded; he gave her a reassuring smile and left. She heard his footsteps echoing through the hall outside, and then began to undress. She stood naked before the bathroom mirror, her long golden hair tickling the small of her back. She still looked like the maiden of Rohan who had once stood behind King Théoden, through his slip into dotage, ever shuddering at the licentious glances of Wormtongue. Yet that was not who she was now.  
  
She was Éowyn, Lady of the Shield-arm, sister of the King, soon to be Queen of Gondor. She had changed. She no longer looked to the sword for glory. The sword brought only misery and suffering: there was nothing to be gained from taking a life, even if their death was just.  
  
Éowyn slipped slowly into the bath, her skin enveloped in the blissfully hot water, seeping through her like the wind in the grass: refreshing, but comfortable. Faramir was alive, but far away; Aragorn was here, and they would be married. Éowyn looked at the rim of the bath; characters were carved there, elvish characters. She was stirred by a sudden desire to learn the Noble Tongue, and be able not just to read it, but also to write it and speak it as well. She surmised that most Gondorians could at least understand Elvish either spoken or written. Their Queen would be the same.  
  
--+-- Aragorn's Chambers --+--  
  
Aragorn was worried about Éowyn. How would she react to being Queen? It was only now that he understood how the public would see her: a china doll, perched by his side, whose only purpose is to produce an heir. Éowyn was not that person; she would hate that person with all her heart. But there was no way to change that. Arwen would have been content to be seen that way, content to be that woman, but Éowyn was far too independent to be constrained by the limitations of Gondorian aristocracy. She would be torn to pieces from inside, it would kill her. Was this really what she wanted?  
  
Exhausted, Aragorn sat heavily on his bed. He was dimly aware of a pillow under his head. Then he slept.  
  
===================  
  
LOTR won the Big Read last night! According to a big bookie's: "Tolkien fans are amongst the best-organised group of supporters on the Internet and for two days, our website was under siege." Go us! We beat Pride and Prejudice; His Dark Materials; The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy; and Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. 


	23. Implications

~@-/Pains in the Heart\-@~  
  
I don't own Middle-earth or the people in it. You don't *seriously* need a disclaimer by now? Not that you read them. I could be calling the load of you S-O-Bs and you wouldn't know the difference. (I'm not calling you S-O- Bs by the way.) Just read the story. Read the fruit of my fingers. Don't waste time on the disclaimer. ... You just don't get the hint, do you?  
  
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Don't flame me!  
  
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Mousie2: Remember that Éomund (in battle) and Théodwyn (sickness) died when Éomer and Éowyn were very small. And also that Théodred was much older - I think he was 24 when Théoden adopted them. Otherwise, thanks for the advice - it just seems to come out a rush sometimes.  
  
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Where's the rest o' yeh? Read! And, moreover, review! This is a short one.  
  
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--+-- Aragorn's Chambers --+--  
  
He sat bolt upright. There it was again - a knock on the door. "Aragorn?" Éomer's commanding tones. "Are you in there?"  
  
"Yes," it was almost a groan. How long had he been asleep? "Come in."  
  
The door opened. "What happened to Éowyn?" said Éomer. "Is she all right?"  
  
"Yes," said Aragorn firmly, finally assured. "She is taking a bath." He glanced out the window: it was barely an hour after dawn. He had not slept long.  
  
"You should both get some rest," Éomer advised. "The City can do without you for a few hours."  
  
"Thank you, Éomer. I promised Éowyn I would come back to check on her," said Aragorn. He wanted to laugh as Éomer's eyebrows twitched.  
  
"She's bathing, you say?" he stammered. It seemed to Éomer that his heart whimpered. The marriage of his friend to his sister had greater implications that he had initially thought of. She would be expected to produce his heir... Éomer suddenly felt very sheepish, as he had not done in a long time.  
  
"She should be done by now," smiled Aragorn sleepily, as though he guessed Éomer's thoughts. "But I will give her a few more minutes, I think."  
  
"It is a good thing that I came to you first, then," said Éomer with a flickering smile. "I had best take my own advice. A fine state your city is in! All of its nobles lie in sloth while the day whirls on!"  
  
"Such has been the way of the world for many years," said Aragorn, but this time he did not smile. "But we, at least, have good reason."  
  
"Indeed," Éomer agreed. He had not known Aragorn very long, and was still unaccustomed to his sudden switches in mood. But he was more than willing to overlook small shortcomings if Aragorn could lift the frost that had lain too long on his sister.  
  
--+-- Éowyn's Chambers --+--  
  
Éowyn watched the servant go, and slipped deeper into the water, wondering how the towels were made so fluffy. The Rohirrim preferred to drip-dry, or at most dab themselves dry with a linen cloth. A long nightgown, of white satin, was folded neatly on the table. She heard the click of hangers in the wardrobe: Aragorn had sent up something else.  
  
The bathwater was turning cold. Éowyn reluctantly slithered out of the bath and quickly wrapped the towel around herself. She stood thus, creating a small pool around her toes while the towel lent her warmth. At last, she shed the towel and shivered as the cold satin slipped over her skin. She proceeded to fold the towel neatly; then she went into the main bedroom and opened the wardrobe. She gasped.  
  
A stunning dress of black velvet hung there. The white tree flowered across the torso and the short sleeves ended in delicate lace. Upon each sleeve were embroidered seven silver stars. The skirt was slim, running down to the ankles, shot with silver.  
  
And beside it, a white silk dress, plain but for the slightly puffed sleeves and gentle slope of the skirt. It was a gown made for gliding. Wrapped around the waist was a silver belt studded with diamonds. Over the shoulders was draped a black mantle: more silver stars twinkled on the hem.  
  
Sitting on the bedside table were two clasps for her hair, one white, one black; there was another clasp for the black mantle. It was silver, and in the shape of a swan spreading its wings. The swan's onyx eyes gleamed in the dawn and in its breast shone a bright white crystal, like adamant but whiter. Éowyn wanted to try it all on, to see herself in the raiment of a Gondorian princess, but for now she was content to sleep.  
  
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Breaking News: Saddam Hussein has been caught. The war is over. 


	24. Red Horizon

~@-/Pains in the Heart\-@~  
  
I don't own Middle-earth or the people in it. You don't *seriously* need a disclaimer by now? Not that you read them. I could be calling the load of you S-O-Bs and you wouldn't know the difference. (I'm not calling you S-O- Bs by the way.) Just read the story. Read the fruit of my fingers. Don't waste time on the disclaimer. ... You just don't get the hint, do you?  
  
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Don't flame me!  
  
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Mousie2: Always happy to help! But don't forget to keep writing 'Hope in Minas Tirith'!  
  
Common Welsh Green: Indeed I am.  
  
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As the great Father Jack Hackett once said: "Where's the rest o' yeh?" Read! And, moreover, review! Another shortie.  
  
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--+-- Éowyn's Chambers --+--  
  
"Éowyn?" said Aragorn. He opened the door a cautious crack. The bathroom door was ajar; it was dark inside. He pushed the door open further; there she lay, curled on the bed with the white dress draped across her arm. Aragorn smiled gently. He smoothed a chunk of hair back behind her ear. She looked like a child, he thought, with her golden hair lying across the quilt and a look of deepest peace on her face. His breath caught in his throat, and the smile sickened.  
  
This angelic figure would be his wife. Having seeing her like this: virginal, innocent - how could he ever look at her as a woman again? How could he ever desire her? In his own land, she would be seen as a girl, scarcely come to womanhood; he was more than thrice her age. Despair fell on Aragorn. He was more than thrice her age already. She would die when she was as old as he.  
  
He had put it out of his mind in the Houses of Healing, too beside himself with joy to let the words sink in, letting his tongue flap freely. She would die, and he would be left alone. For the last seven score years of his life, he would be alone; the way of the Dúnedain was that of the Elves: they did not take second partners. Throughout the ages, second marriages had only ended in disaster. The tension between the sons of Finwe had been the ultimate cause of the War of the Jewels.  
  
Éowyn stirred, and Aragorn faltered. He left the room quietly as he could.  
  
--+--^--+--  
  
Éowyn opened her eyes blearily, sensing the artificial pressure of the hair behind her ear. She caught a glimpse of black hair before the door shut. Aragorn. She smiled lightly before her eyes slammed shut again.  
  
--+-- Emyn Arnen --+--  
  
Fatigue weighed down Faramir's limbs; every step shook and sagged. He wanted to sleep. The only main settlement on the rocky cliffs of the Emyn Arnen was a scout-post that looked out over Ithilien to the north; the Tower of Ecthelion was but a pale chip shining in the distant blue bulk of the White Mountains.  
  
He pushed Éowyn out of his mind as he climbed the carved steps, resolving to build a new palace in the fertile forest. But for now he was content to sleep anywhere. He slammed the doors open. "Lord Faramir!" cried a scout. "Did you get our message?"  
  
He had not yet formulated an excuse: the truth would hardly suffice. "I will deal with that in the morning," he said.  
  
"But my lord!" cried another man, "what is the king's counsel?"  
  
"About what?" frowned Faramir.  
  
"The Haradrim are invading our southern borders!"  
  
"I have been sent to watch affairs in Ithilien," said Faramir. It was partly true. "I knew nothing of this, but doubtless the King will send a rider in the morning. We can do nothing until then."  
  
But dread was growing in Faramir's heart of hearts. If the Haradrim marched through the day and night without stopping, they might reach Minas Tirith by sunrise tomorrow.  
  
--+-- The Dining Hall --+--  
  
"Where is the king?" demanded Bergeron.  
  
"I will not be spoken to like this," said Éomer coldly, "especially not while I eat. But as for the king: he sleeps, for he has had a restless night. Why?"  
  
"It is an invasion. The Haradrim are coming."  
  
Éomer sat up. "The Haradrim?"  
  
"Yes," said Bergeron; "the Rangers of Ithilien are too few to stay a host."  
  
"I see." Éomer was loath to wake Aragorn, but it was necessary. He rubbed his own eyes, wondering whether he would lie in bed ere the week was out.  
  
=================== 


	25. Regent

~@-/Pains in the Heart\-@~  
  
I don't own Middle-earth or anything in it, Tolkien is the master, blah, blah, blah...  
  
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Don't flame me! Whoa, you reviewed in your - erm, half-dozens... I care not! Keep doing that!  
  
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Lúthien Tinuviel8: LOL! I didn't get that at first (me big thicko) but I agree with what you're saying. Faramir will be further redeemed in... No, I'll not say. Anywho, yeah that's prolly why nobody's reviewing, but now they're over and we'll be off school soon (roll on Friday) and we'll soon be enflamed by LOTR fever (roll on tomorrow) AND I'll have more time to type, maybe you'll keep up :)  
  
Oh! You forgot "access to a decent-sized kingdom desirable" and "must NOT worship Sauron". I share in your jubilation since I'll be in the cinema in 2 hours *happy dance*.  
  
Writerbrat: *shifts uncomfortably* I got onyx from Houses of Healing... Well, I was inspired! ;) I'm not from the US - not from that side of the Atlantic, quite frankly - but from where I stand, Bush seems like a total moron. Not to bring politics or controversy into it.  
  
Common Welsh Green: Yes I am.  
  
The Dark Wanderer: It was a lot of fun not writing what wasn't said! And yeah, more action.  
  
Necole: More trouble, but it's not between them.  
  
Mousie2: They're not having cold feet. The euphoria of getting together at last is passing and they're beginning to see that their marriage isn't going to be perfect - this isn't Valinor, people - but they can make the best of it.  
  
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--+-- Aragorn's Chambers --+--  
  
"Aragorn?" said Éomer. He gave the King of Gondor a quick shake. "They say you are to come immediately!"  
  
Aragorn dragged himself into a sitting position and tried to wake his eyes by blinking. "What's happening?"  
  
"The Haradrim..."  
  
He sighed. "I feared this." Éomer stared. "The Haradrim are shrewd. They did not send more than a half of their men to Sauron, lest his plans go astray as they did once before. The Rohirrim slew their commander, a prince of the Near Harad, and Umbar is not solely inhabited by Black Númenoreans. Not one of their people returned, and the shadow has lifted from their hearts: they know that Sauron has failed again, and that they are the only great power that can threaten Gondor; long have they built their army."  
  
"What is your counsel?" asked Éomer. This was going to be more serious than he had first thought.  
  
"I say this to you only," said Aragorn warningly: "we must counter them quickly, long before they reach the River. If they march, then they also sail. I have fought the Haradrim at sea before, and they are formidable!"  
  
--+-- The War Council --+--  
  
"Yes, yes, I know," said Aragorn briskly, brushing away the messengers as he strode into the council room. He slammed his palms down on the table, leaning forward, looking from stunned old face to stunned old face. "Look, I want to win this war, so you are dismissed."  
  
The silence deepened. "My liege, do I-"  
  
"Yes, Nimwaer, you do. What are you waiting for? Go!"  
  
The shocked councillors scurried out. Aragorn swung round to face a page. "You! Summon Imrahil, Frodo, Gimli, Legolas and Gandalf!" he cried in his haste. Seeing the page's confusion, he translated gently, "Prince Imrahil, the Ringbearer, Lord Glóinúl*, Lord Thranduilion and Lord Mithrandir."  
  
"Yes, my liege!" said the page, and he scampered out. Aragorn sank into his chair with a sigh. Éomer took a place.  
  
"I am sorry to see them go," said Aragorn, "for each of them was wise in his own right - but they were utterly useless as war councillors."  
  
They sat in tired silence until the others arrived. When all were seated, there was just one empty seat. "Where is Lord Faramir?" asked Frodo, frowning. "And why have you summoned me, of all people, to a war council?  
  
Gandalf smiled. "The wise oft need an opinion free of clutter."  
  
"Yes, but where is Faramir?"  
  
"Haven't Merry and Pippin spoken to you of this?" frowned Legolas.  
  
"No, why?"  
  
"It will suffice," said Aragorn, "to say that he has gone to Ithilien. But something else is come there. The Haradrim are on the march. To an army of that size, Gondor may fall, for they fight with the fury of the grieved."  
  
"I can see that your mind is already made up," said Gandalf, "so why do you not take action? Are you afraid?"  
  
"No," said Aragorn. "I seek another way, that is all."  
  
"You purpose to fight them yourself," said Gimli, mystified. "Are you mad?"  
  
"Do not jest, son of Glóin!" cried Imrahil; "he would not leave his people so early in his reign."  
  
"I would," said Aragorn, "if it meant that I still had a people to rule."  
  
All fell silent. "What, then, would you do?" asked Éomer. "How many men?"  
  
"I will take as many as can be spared to Ithilien to head off the Haradrim, then take to the battle to the sea. Imrahil, your men are fine sailors. Find me as many as you can."  
  
"When will we leave?"  
  
"As soon as possible. You must each lead a company. Not you, Frodo, of course, or Sam - you have been through enough. But if Merry and Pippin desire to come, they may. I will take the Dúnedain and some Men of the City: we shall leave at sunset."  
  
"I shall lead the Rohirrim," Éomer announced. "They will be ready by sun-up tomorrow."  
  
"There are no Elves for me to lead," said Legolas, "but I shall lead such archers as I can find. Those of Morthond and the Rammas shall be my company."  
  
"I have no Dwarves," Gimli agreed, "so I beg leave to march in the King's company."  
  
"And I grant you leave," smiled Aragorn. "Imrahil, I request that you stay behind to order the sailors. Gandalf, would you be willing to stay and rule the City?"  
  
"No." His voice was flat. "There is one better suited to the task."  
  
"Faramir?" said Aragorn disbelievingly.  
  
"Nay, not Faramir," said Gandalf, "but this person may not be willing."  
  
"Éowyn cannot handle this City alone," said Aragorn simply. "Not yet."  
  
"I would not be so sure," said Éomer. "She sees and knows more than she pretends. And Minas Tirith does not depend over-much on its king."  
  
--+-- Éowyn's Chambers --+--  
  
Éowyn was clad in a simple blue dress, not wanting to spoil her new ones, when she left her chambers. He head was abuzz. Why had Aragorn come to her sleeping? Where was he? Éomer, too, was gone. The sun was glaring with noon anger and there was not a soul to be seen in the palace.  
  
Bewildered, she went to the dining hall and its everlasting feast. Just as she was tucking into some sausages, Aragorn arrived. "Éowyn," he said, "come with me."  
  
She did. He led he up steps at the back of the hall into a deserted passage. "There is trouble on the borders," said Aragorn as he hurried along, "and I must go to war."  
  
"What?" Éowyn felt the bottom drop out of her stomach.  
  
"It is too great a threat to leave to Faramir and the other captains," he said, stopping to face her. "And I want your consent: will you rule in my stead?"  
  
Éowyn was astounded. "Rule?"  
  
"It is either you or Faramir," said Aragorn helplessly. "I do not want to foist this upon you, but it shall help you learn the ways of the City, as you wished, and to gain the love of the people."  
  
"How long..."  
  
"No more than three weeks," he said. "No more. You shall be a Regent."  
  
"I have little choice in this matter," said Éowyn, resent tweaking her words.  
  
"You know I would not go if *I* had the choice," said Aragorn. "But such is the life of the king."  
  
"I accept," sighed Éowyn. "Three weeks? And then Dernhelm shall ride once more!"  
  
"Yes," laughed Aragorn, "for if it takes three weeks then we shall need every soldier we can find. Éowyn, I know you want to go, and I want to stay, but such is life. When this is over," he stooped and kissed her brow, "it shall be time. You will feel ready."  
  
--+-- The Pelennor Fields --+--  
  
Sunset poured blood over the Pelennor, and Éowyn was strongly reminded of the last time she had seen troops upon it: the battle. She had missed the departure of the Captains of the West. She would not miss their second riding.  
  
At the Gate of the City stood the families of those under Aragorn's command. Éowyn was among them. Final goodbyes were being said to wives and sweethearts, Éowyn among them. Aragorn came to her, and she flung her arms around his neck; he took her in his arms and kissed her, and men were glad to see their happiness, yet bittersweet was the parting.  
  
At last the men drifted down the slope to their places on the Pelennor. Aragorn released her, and they embraced, her head on his chest. "Be sure to come back," she whispered.  
  
"I will," he replied. "I love you."  
  
"I love you," said Éowyn, and tears filled her eyes as she kissed him again.  
  
"It is time."  
  
Aragorn hurried to the head of his company. As before, he was leaving enough to guard the City from attack, lest Imrahil's forces failed. Éomer's group would ride quickly behind and catch up by noon of the next day, but until then Éowyn couldn't suppress the fear of his death before reinforcements could arrive. Of their deaths.  
  
What if Éomer and Aragorn were both killed - then where would she stand? She would be alone, all alone. Éowyn convulsed with heavy sobs as Aragorn gave a great shout and rode away into the twilight.  
  
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*I noticed that, when translated, the tomb of Balin is in fact inscribed "Balin, Fundinúl" leading me to believe that "úl" is the Khuzdul suffix for "son of". *sticks out tongue*  
  
Going to see ROTK in 2 hours! Yay! 


	26. Worry

~@-/Pains in the Heart\-@~  
  
I don't own Middle-earth or anything in it, Tolkien is the master, blah, blah, blah...  
  
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I just want to make a few notes on ROTK - don't read if you haven't seen it or don't like spoilers:  
  
From a moviegoer's point of view it's an excellent film; from a fan's point of view it is extremely disappointing. I mean, I'm fully willing to allow PJ some artist's license, but they went too far for my liking. All that crap about Arwen dying, no Saruman, no Houses of Healing, no Saruman, no Grey Company, the Dead in Minas Tirith, butchered Witchking scene, changed Mount Doom scene, no Scouring of the Shire - they went too far. By the end of the first half, I was completely confused and had no idea what was going to happen next.  
  
I'm glad they redeemed Faramir for moviegoers but the Osgiliath scene was needless, as was the addition of Elrond to Dunharrow - Aragorn should have received Andúril during FOTR! How the Dead came to be in Minas Tirith was not explained, and my friends would have been very confused if they hadn't had a ring-nut with them ;). Why did Gandalf keep whacking Denethor? And the Steward died a much more dignified death in the books - he didn't jump off the walls burning!  
  
Gimli was pretty funny, but a lot of his material was based on book bits. I'd love to know why they decided to 'kill' Arwen - or hear the reasoning by the added bad-Sam subplot. As a result of no Scouring, the ending made no sense and seemed forced.  
  
All in all, very disappointing if you ask me.  
  
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mousie2: Well, Éowyn's is soon going to realise just how difficult life as Queen will be, and discover the other-other side of Aragorn: Thorongil. (Keep writing 'Hope in Minas Tirith'!)  
  
Luthien Tinuviel: Frodo is there to bring the decisions of the council back to the Hobbits. Éowyn *will* get to wear the dresses, but Legolas' love life doesn't come into this story - not yet at any rate, and even then it's very small. "That still only counts as one!" - we were laughing our heads off on the way home (cos we were hyper then.)  
  
Writerbrat: At least they redeemed Faramir - they made Denethor too much of an asshole; he's supposed to be cold, not evil.  
  
Necole: You're not a dork - I want to go see it a second time, see if it makes a better impression. As for the story (oh yeah, that) - not everything is going to go smoothly, and I won't say whether or not Aragorn comes back hehehe like to keep you guessing.  
  
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I made a little timeline in MS Word and went through all the chappies, did some calculations with the timeframe, etc. Would you believe that we're still on the day after Éowyn's attack? She woke up in the early dawn, and Aragorn left that evening - they spent a lot of time sleeping and fighting and bathing, didn't they?  
  
Right! Need to do some writing! Finish off this bloody day.  
  
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--+-- Minas Tirith --+--  
  
The night was agonising. Worry kept Éowyn awake, until at last she went to Éomer.  
  
"Éomer, why do you go to war?" she wept, breaking down.  
  
Éomer gave her a wry smile. "You do not ask why I go, you ask why Aragorn goes."  
  
"You, too. He said only that there was trouble on the borders."  
  
"Trouble! Ha!" Éomer pinched the bridge of his nose. "He did not want to worry you! But I shall be honest: an army of the Harad are marching in vengeance. A fleet of ships draws ever nearer to this City. There is hope, but we are greatly outnumbered."  
  
"You defeated them once before," said Éowyn.  
  
"Yes, but then they fought out of necessity; they were not willing soldiers. The fire of battle is hot within them; their grief is still fresh."  
  
"As is ours, brother," she commented.  
  
"True," said Éomer darkly, "but they lost many more than we did."  
  
--+-- Emyn Arnen --+--  
  
Faramir paced, restless. He could scarcely believe that he had fought Aragorn only that morning. He shivered as Éowyn's terrified face flashed before his eyes. He was a monster. So Faramir sat at the small desk in his chamber and began to write.  
  
To the White Lady:  
  
My shame is matched only by my sorrow. Though I will understand if you take  
  
my honesty for trickery, I speak from the depths of my soul. I have committed  
  
the most grievous of all crimes against you, and I weep for it. In Mandos I shall  
  
pay.  
  
I write only so that you may know that I was not myself: I was fey, and it has all  
  
but passed. Still I desire you by my side, and you know that already; it makes my  
  
heart glad to know that you will find happiness even if it is with another, for I would  
  
not see you sorrowful - not even were you with me.  
  
Pray, do not think that I try to condone my actions. Had I taken the place of the  
  
King, such a crime would unquestionably merit death. Though it would seem that  
  
my death is imminent, for an army from the South approaches me even now. You  
  
will come to no harm while the strength of the Rangers of Ithilien endures.  
  
If this letter reaches you in these times of war, I beg that you ask the King for counsel  
  
and aid, for we shall need it; the Haradrim come in great force.  
  
Again, Lady, I beg that you accept my apology - not now, perhaps, for the grief is still  
  
too fresh, even for me, and it pains me to remember - but perhaps in the fullness of  
  
time you may find it in your heart to forgive me partially.  
  
I wish you greatest success as Queen of Gondor and Arnor, and also endless happiness.  
  
Yours most sincerely,  
  
Faramir  
  
He folded the letter thrice and sealed it with wax. Without a moment's thought, he sent out an errand-rider. It was not until then that he remembered Éowyn's words, that he should leave until she was Queen. What would be the penalty for his message?  
  
Faramir went again to the window and looked into the South. He gazed up at Ithil drawn by Tilion, and sang a soft lament for Arien's demise for the sun was not long gone. A vast cloud of dust smeared the horizon. It was being made in south Harondor, the southernmost part of the kingdom, a wild desert wandered by bandits and evil men.  
  
To the northwest, the moon glinted on something large and metallic. Straining his sharp eyes, he saw Osgiliath filled with soldiers and above them fluttered the Elvish banner. Help was come to Ithilien.  
  
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	27. The Buildup

~@-/Pains in the Heart\-@~  
  
I don't own Middle-earth or anything in it, Tolkien is the master, blah, blah, blah...  
  
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Common Welsh Green: Of course it's building up to something.  
  
Lúthien Tinúviel: *shrug* I'm still not happy. They could've made TTT a bit longer - including what was in the TTT book - and left room for the Grey Company etc. And you haven't explained the Arwen-dying thing (cos let's face it, it was pointless). I felt that the Witchking scene was butchered in that most of the dialogue was cut from Éowyn's breakthrough scene. She said, "I am no man," in the movies. In the books she said, "But no man am I: you look upon a woman. Éowyn I am, Éomund's daughter..." but then the movies never had any mystery as to Dernhelm's identity. Merry just says, "my lady," which was really disappointing for me cos when I first read LotR I was like OMG it was Éowyn!!!  
  
Mousie2: There's nothing about Aragorn and Éowyn, just him telling her she loves "but a shadow and a thought" in Dunharrow and then he hits the PotD minus the Grey Company. Éowyn doesn't kill Gríma - in fact we never see him or Saruman - and the wedding is never shown. The Witchking scene has been edited into oblivion - poorly acted, poorly cut - not good, basically. I hope "Hope in Minas Tirith" is ready soon.  
  
Necole: You posted twice. Ugh, the Eldarion scene was utter crap -why was Aragorn old in it? Well, on with the story...  
  
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Keep reviewing, people!  
  
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--+-- Minas Tirith --+--  
  
Éowyn bade them farewell in the fashion of the Rohirrim: she drank from a cup of wine, and then gave the cup to Éomer. He took a sip as well, and smiled reassuringly as she took it back. "Worry not, dearest of sisters," he said quietly. "You will not let down the House of Eorl. We shall return."  
  
"Fare thee well, Men of the Mark!" cried Éowyn. They roared in response. "Thou shall do thy country proud, supporting Gondor in her need."  
  
As she said this, Éomer mounted his horse. He cried, "To Aragorn! Forth, Eorlingas!" They roared again, and the earth shook under the thudding of hooves. Éowyn closed her eyes, so she knew not that guards (labouring to repair the wall) stopped as though turned to stone, awestruck by her beauty as she stood with the wind of the passing horses throwing her hair behind her, her silver skirts swirling in the breeze.  
  
When at last the vibration beneath her feet ceased, she opened her eyes again and was nearly blinded by the glare of the sun on Anduin. She turned slightly northward; out of the haze was framed a single rider. She followed its progress and she saw that he bore no packages other than a thick piece of paper. He tilted his head as he dismounted and walked by. Then the messenger paused.  
  
"Excuse me, lady," he said, "but are you the White Lady of Rohan?"  
  
"Yes," replied Éowyn, surprised. He held out small paper parcel.  
  
"A message for you from across the river."  
  
Her heart leapt: Aragorn was writing to her already. But when she peeled away the seal and unfolded the letter, it was not Aragorn's firm thick hand that met her: instead, it was a wispier, narrow script and she skipped to the ending. Her suspicions had been correct. The letter was from Faramir.  
  
"Thank you," she whispered to the messenger. He bowed quickly and set off again. Without reading the message, she slid it into a small pocket, turned, and walked back along the twisting road to the Citadel.  
  
--+-- Ithilien --+--  
  
Aragorn groaned when he caught the position of the sun. He had slept over- long, and the day was drawing on. He hauled himself off the ground, massaging the small of his back, where he had lain on a root. Arwen's banner was propped against a tree and a gentle breeze washed the camp. Osgiliath was a league to the west; Aragorn had called for a stop when he began to doze in the saddle around midnight. He glanced up at the rocky hills to his right and smiled: the scout post that had twinkled in the night was totally camouflaged.  
  
And suddenly a young soldier was bobbing at his shoulder. "Highness," he gasped, "you have risen."  
  
"Yes," frowned Aragorn. "Why did no-one wake me?"  
  
"We knew not that it was your will."  
  
Aragorn sighed and sent the soldier off with word that they would set off immediately. He rolled up his blanket and stowed it in a saddlebag. Then he drew a slice of bread, some cold meat and his water bottle out of another bag and broke his fast. Within the hour, the Elvish banner was above him again and they had begun the hard climb into the Emyn Arnen.  
  
It was lonely, without Halbarad or Éomer to talk to. Gimli sat on a feeble horse not far behind, droning about Aglarond again. Éowyn soon appeared in Aragorn's thoughts and he drifted into daydream, seeing her in a wedding gown, her face bright and happy, her hand in his. Stirred by a desire to return to her, Aragorn spurred on his horse, almost galloping up the sloping road into the Emyn Arnen.  
  
Once all were racing into the hills, it did not take long to reach the post. It was the only remaining wing of the fortress of the House of Húrin, the house of Stewards of which Faramir was descended. That castle had once encircled a spire of rock that rose sharply from a broad shelf; a geological anomaly, like a mast on a ship. But years had passed, and the fortress had fallen into disrepair, until at last only the northwestern wing of it still stood facing Osgiliath and Minas Tirith. The rubble had been used to build stables and outhouses, and to mend failing walls.  
  
Faramir was busy at a broad table, which was smothered by a vast map of Middle-earth. He had drawn a fine pencil line across the part of South Gondor where he believed the Haradrim were riding. He had drawn more lines labelled with the times at which he estimated that they would arrive. Completely absorbed in his work, he had not noticed the arrival of the King's men until the door burst open and a rush of air ruffled the edges of the map. He straightened quickly with a stab of pain, for he had been poring long over the map.  
  
"My lord," he winced. "Your room is prepared."  
  
"I fear that your efforts were wasted, Faramir," said Aragorn briskly; "we will not stay long. Éomer should arrive within the hour, in fact I am surprised that he is not here already."  
  
"Would your Highness care to eat ere the Rohirrim come?"  
  
Aragorn frowned. "No, but perhaps my men will. We left the woods in haste and not all have broken their fasts. However, I wish to speak with you, Faramir. Alone." Faramir's hand twitched automatically towards his sword- hilt, but he caught himself in time. The King smiled. "No, Faramir, that will not be necessary. There will be plenty of time for swordplay tomorrow."  
  
Faramir led Aragorn up the winding stair into a tower, where they would not be heard. When the door was shut, Aragorn said, "You know why I wish to speak to you." It was a statement, not a question.  
  
"Yes," said Faramir.  
  
"Then begin."  
  
--+-- Minas Tirith --+--  
  
"She is a fair lady," murmured one man in the street, "but she is not Gondorian..."  
  
"A wild princess of the North," muttered his companion. "She was commanded to remain at home, but she disobeyed her lord and kin."  
  
"One such as this is to be our Queen?"  
  
Verily the blood of Númenor did not run true in Éowyn's veins, but from her grandmother Morwen she had inherited some gifts, like her figure and air - and also her hearing. And so it was that though the men spoke quietly, and on the other side of the street, she heard them. Tears glistened in her eyes and tickled her nose. She was suddenly aware of the weight of the empty pocket, devoid of news from her love.  
  
One such as this... wild... not Gondorian... Queen... 'Is that truly how they see me?' thought Éowyn. But the trials that had marked her life had taught her to harden her sadness, to turn it into steely resolve; her strides became quick and firm as she marched back into the Citadel with clenched fists and incontestable determination.  
  
It chanced that she met Prince Imrahil hurrying about the palace, and she stopped him despite his frantic protests of busyness. "I want to learn the history and ways of Gondor," she said, face set. "To whom should I speak?"  
  
"Go to Rath Pethron in the Sixth Circle of the City; ask there. I am sorry that I can be of no more help, my lady, but I am in supreme haste."  
  
So Éowyn made her way down to the Storyteller's Street and was directed thence to the house of Dior, one of the greatest loremasters in the City. He was a man of high blood and in his youth had taught even the sons of Denethor the tales of their homeland.  
  
"My lady!" said Dior when he opened the door, surprised. "May I inquire as to the nature of your visit?"  
  
"Yes," said Éowyn, still determined. "I wish to learn the lore of Gondor and you were recommended to me."  
  
"I see." Dior thought quickly, for he feared to incur the King's wrath.  
  
"It is the King's will that I learn the ways of this land," added Éowyn, seeing his discomfort.  
  
"In that case, when would you like to begin?" said Dior.  
  
"Tomorrow," replied Éowyn. "Could you meet me at eleven of the clock in the study?"  
  
"Yes, my lady. I shall see you then."  
  
=================== 


	28. The Talk

~@-/Pains in the Heart\-@~  
  
I don't own Middle-earth or anything in it, Tolkien is the master, blah, blah, blah...  
  
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Wow, it's been a while, hasn't it? By right this is only a half-chapter, but I'm posting it now so I can get the story moving on to the big things ahead.  
  
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The Dark Wanderer: Éowyn wasn't really ready to receive any message from Faramir. And yeah, freaking Gondorians!  
  
Writerbrat: Why do you want to flame me? Faramir's talk with Aragorn is in this chapter.  
  
Lúthien Tinúviel8: Found it! You were right, it was in Chap 14, Faramir says Rohan instead of Gondor, must change that. Thanks for the tip. The Dernhelm mystery... *cough* well I was only eleven! I was expecting a lot of things to be cut from the journey to Mount Doom, but I wish they'd kept the march with the Orcs cos that for me demonstrated Sauron's attitudes or something - the desperation of the situation. And I don't care if it was high-faluting - it's *Tolkien*, that's the point! ;)  
  
Aurdomiel, Ravenstar: Oh, I hated writing that! But yeah, it was essential to the plot. I'm guessing you're underage? And about the movie: I just got flamed yesterday when I posted my review of the story on a forum! It's not that I hate the movie; I just thought it had a lot of faults. But I'm coming to terms with it as a film in its own right and I intend to see it after Christmas, to appreciate it properly. It was just a shock to see all those changes. Keep reading!  
  
Necole: Yeah, I just reread the Annals of the Kings in preparation - it's a good story in itself!  
  
Mousie2: AARRGGHH!!!! NOOOO!!! You can't do this to me! Don't send her to Faramir! That's what I'M doing! Oh, God, I just revealed a major plot point, didn't I? *starts crying* No worries, you all don't know how it'll come to that. Erm, how do you follow up that ^ kind of outburst? Thank you for reviewing?  
  
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Keep reviewing, people!  
  
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--+-- Ithilien --+--  
  
Faramir took a deep breath. "The night before last, I attended the party. I felt happy: glad that Éowyn had found happiness. But when I saw her, she was alone." Faramir paused, expecting Aragorn to make an excuse.  
  
"Go on," he said, "I shall not interrupt you."  
  
"She seemed ill-at-ease, so I took her out onto the balcony for I desired to speak with her. We chatted briefly - about Rohan, and her reasons for coming to Gondor. Then we were espied by people in the City, who thought we were... together, so I suggested that we speak somewhere quieter. At first, I had simply intended to bring her outside the party room, but my feet carried me further than I had meant, for I was lost in thought. As I led her through the palace I realised how pleasurable it was to have her by my side, and I became sorrowful, for I knew I had lost her forever.  
  
"And then we emerged in the corridor outside my chambers, and I stopped there. I had not realised that we were come so far. So I turned round. Seeing her there, so radiant, so... I suppose I need not describe the feeling to you. I couldn't believe that there was so beautiful a woman in my humble presence! So I asked her if she could ever have loved me. It was vain, I know, but it seemed not so at the time. When she said yes, I knew not whether to rejoice or despair. Then suddenly my hand was in hers and I was kissing her, and I should have realised she was struggling but I didn't, not until I thought about it later. Then she pulled away and ran straight to Éomer. He took her into his room and they spoke while I waited outside, but it soon dawned upon me that waiting was unwise, so I fled.  
  
"Éomer followed, as I had expected, and he caught me in the room just beyond where the party had taken place, and threatened me. On returning to my chambers in a foul temper, I met you; I thought that Éomer had told you what I had done, and that my punishment would be decided in the morning."  
  
Here, Faramir paused again and Aragorn, who had been still in the cold chamber, stirred. "The war council," said Aragorn, "decided the exact same thing. They wanted you to hold Ithilien until a greater force could be gathered. I wished to speak to you about that. I knew nothing of the evening's... activities."  
  
Faramir nodded weakly. An odd feeling was warming him, melting the stiffness he had at first felt. He had spoken to Boromir like this, but Aragorn was more of a mixture: the authority of a father and the understanding of a brother; a neutral ear that cared deeply; the best confidante, yet the worst possible - even that is an inaccurate. Faramir's attitude at that moment defies description, but it may be said that he felt Aragorn to be removed from common labels.  
  
"I spend some time choosing the wisest course of action: I could not trust myself around her, and thought it would be best to leave Minas Tirith. When my horse was ready, I found that I could not depart Minas Tirith without leaving word with someone, and my mind turned immediately to Éowyn. I entered her bedchamber and..." Faramir trembled slightly and shook his head. "I don't know what happened."  
  
Aragorn patted his steward on the shoulder. "It is all right," he said. "You need not speak of that."  
  
"I suppose we must return to our troops," said Faramir after a silence.  
  
"That would be best," Aragorn agreed. "There is much to be done. I simply wanted to hear your side of the story."  
  
Faramir nodded again, rose, and held the door open for his King.  
  
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The ROTK soundtrack rules (especially "Minas Tirith"). BTW, can someone please tell me how to do italics on FF.net? 


	29. The Second Host

**~@-/Pains in the Heart\-@~**

I don't own Middle-earth or anything in it, Tolkien is the master, blah, blah, blah...

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I can't believe it's been nearly a month since I last updated! I've been busy with skiing, coursework and Harry Potter forums, but I'm back!

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Common Welsh Green: I'm sorry you feel that way.  Hope you prefer this chapter.

Lelegurl9: I felt I had to show Faramir's point of view, so he wouldn't seem like such an asshole.

Lúthien Tinúviel8: I never said I would _give_ her to Faramir – but I didn't say I wouldn't either.  You'll just have to see.  Yes, his reasons were idiotic, but hey – he's an idiot, not evil.  I just saw ROTK again (literally, I'm just through the door and I'm typing to still the travel-sickness) but I'm still not pleased.  The Mount Doom scene and Arwen's 'death' really bug me.  Thank you _so _much for the tip!

Writerbrat: I love those three tracks (_Minas Tirith, The White Tree _and _The Steward of Gondor_) – they're even saved onto my computer so I can listen while I type!  Went to see ROTK again yesterday and I kept saying stuff like, "Oh, that's track 2: _Hope and Memory_!" when Merry and Pippin are in Meduseld heading for the stables.  Back to the story: I wanted to flame _myself_ for that chapter! It was crap!

Aurdomiel, Ravenstar: New and different? Meh, give me old and similar any day.  Yes, Éowyn goes to Faramir, but it's not for another dozen chapters at least (I have it all planned out up to Chapter 43 – 3am inspiration).

Necole: You'll just have to see what happens with Faramir moohoohahaha... B)

Philstar22: Glad you like it!

MC6: Faramir came out more evilly than I intended. But he will be redeemed!  I take it you're a HP fan? I ship H/Hr myself, what about you?

Thalionsul: I'm updating right now! :P (BTW like the name – you've read the _Sil_?)

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Keep reviewing, people!

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--+-- **Minas Tirith** --+--

    "_Suilannon le_," said Éowyn slowly. "_Éowyn ess nîn_."

    "Excellent, excellent," Dior nodded. "Go on."

    "_Telin o Rohan; im hiril o Barad Nim, Minas Tirith_."

    "Perfect!" exclaimed Dior. "But you need to work the 'ch' sound into 'Rohan' – _telin o Rochan_.  That is my only criticism."

Éowyn smiled.  She was learning the basics of Sindarin, the Noble Tongue, and found it easy.  "It just slides off the tongue," she had said.

Dior was thrilled.  Never before had he taught such an eager student – but most had known at least the small tales and fables of Gondor while Éowyn did not.

*          *            *

By the high seat of the King stood two smaller chairs.  The one to the King's right was low and black, but a throne in its own right; the seat of the Stewards.  To the left had been placed a chair that had stood in the dining hall: a grand and richly carved wooden dining chair.  It was for Éowyn, as long as she would rule.

A woman was led before Éowyn as she sat in this chair; she was escorted by Guards of the Citadel, one of whom muttered something to her.  She was clad all in black and wore a black veil: she was in mourning.

    "_Brennil nín_," said the woman, curtseying before descending to one knee.  Éowyn smiled: the Guard must have told her to speak only in Sindarin, under Dior's orders. "_Amatyultare ess nîn – Belegaroniell.  Herven nín, Máneharno_-" she stopped.  "If you will pardon my boldness, I am told that the Lady is only learning the _Edhellen_..."

    "You may continue in the Common Speech," laughed Éowyn, "but I thank you for your understanding."

Amatyultare looked surprised, for she had expected anger in return not thanks.  She bowed her head.  "My husband, Máneharno, was killed some days ago by falling rocks from the Rammas of the Pelennor as he rode to where our home once stood.  So I come to make a request of you: that those able-bodied men left in the City should work to repair the Rammas. If the City is indeed attacked, we should at least have an outer wall."

    "You have done well, daughter of Belegaron. I shall follow your counsel."  Éowyn turned to a Guard who stood in the shadow of a pillar near her seat.  "Send word to the Captain of the Guard: all men who can be spared must help rebuild the Rammas."

    "Milady," said one of the Guards, bowing, "whence shall we find the stone?"

Éowyn thought for a moment.  "Use the rubble from the City.  In this way we shall complete two tasks at once." 

    "Yes, milady," said the Guard and he scurried out.

--+-- **Ithilien** --+--

The soldiers of Gondor stood ranged in the courtyard as Éomer's forces arrived.

    "What is the plan?" Éomer asked Aragorn, his helm under his arm.  He led Éomer to the map.

    "We shall ride to the southern border," he said, tracing their route with his finger, "and wait if the Haradrim have not yet come there.  When the battle is over, then we must get to the coast, where Imrahil shall be waiting for us."

    "You sound confident," said Faramir with a wry smile as he approached the table.  Éomer gripped the hilt of his sword.  Aragorn touched his arm to stay him.

    "Without confidence, what plan could we have?" Aragorn pointed out.  He adjusted his breastplate. "We had best get moving.  The Haradrim will not stand and discuss tactics.  They are coming to slay, not play fair."

The Host of the West rode east once more; the rush of the wind invigorated Éomer, yet at the same time his heart was made heavier with every thud of the hoof.  He prayed that he was not leading his people to their deaths.  And Éowyn – what would befall her if they did not return?

Aragorn was thinking the same thing, though his confidence was greater.  He clenched the reins when he thought of Éowyn, standing alone on the Walls of the Citadel, watching in horror as the City burned below her, and the ships cluttered the Anduin so that a fleet like a wooden city was moored in old Osgiliath.

And there it was: a red cloud in the distance. The Haradrim were in sight; they would meet within hours if both continued to gallop.  So Aragorn called his men to a halt when they were still not come to the border, and he called their captains to him to finalise the formations to be used in the battle.  They would have to gain the upper hand quickly, so as to come to the aid of the seamen in time.  Everything rested on this battle, including the fate of Minas Tirith.

A lump came into Faramir's throat as horse cantered back to the Ithilien Rangers, as he thought of the slaughter that must ensue; but it soon melted away, replaced by steely determination, the raw desire to stay alive.  He looked to Aragorn.

    "Battle stations!" shouted the King again.  "The enemy is in sight!"

A regiment of the Rohirrim marched forwards, pikes ready.  The Haradrim drew ever nearer. Aragorn could see the glimmering gold that adorned their lords, and the soldiers, now marching before the cavalry, were as a red haze topped with mahogany.  A shrieking cry rose from the Haradrim, and the second Host of the West shuffled nervously.

    "For Gondor!" shouted a man behind Faramir; then the Rohirrim began to shout: a mingling din of deep Rohirric voices and clear cries from the vales of Gondor. Aragorn suddenly yelled, "For the West!" and all the men shouted it. And with that, Aragorn urged his horse on; his men jolted into action. Éomer cried, "Forth, Eorlingas!" and followed suit.  Legolas' archers rode in a line, forcing Faramir's men forwards. A bubbling blood-lust rose in Faramir and he hollered, charging on with the force of Gondor behind him.

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Éowyn says, "Greetings.  Éowyn is my name.  I come from Rohan; I am Lady of the White Tower, Minas Tirith."


	30. The First Kinstrife

Okay, peeps. In hindsight I can see the flaws in this story, so I'm revamping it. I'll put a note in the summary to show when a chap's been changed and another big one when the whole thing's ready for a proper continuation.

---- **Minas Tirith** ----

The men who had denounced Éowyn in the street were not alone in their thought. When Éowyn was seen on the walls, poring over scrolls with the wind in her hair, many shook their heads and said, "She knows no more lore than a child."

Éowyn was defended from their criticisms by the walls of the Citadel, from which she vowed she would stray so often. She was not totally unaware of the unease at the city, but she was not aware of its extent.

"I shall read this scroll," said Dior that morning, "for it is written in the Valinórean, beyond the skill of most."

"I understand," nodded Éowyn. Dior was uncomfortable with this section of history: he had dreaded teaching it since he first accepted Éowyn as a charge. The Kin-strife.

_King Rómendacil II made alliance with the Northmen of the vales of Anduin, sending his heir Valacar to the court of their king. Rómendacil wished his son to learn something of the customs of the Northmen and strengthen the bond between their peoples. While in the courts of the Northmen, Valacar took to wife their princess, Vidumavi._

_A son she bore him: Eldacar, who was called Vinitharya among his mother's people, with whom he grew up. There were many who opposed the union of Valacar and Vidumavi, fearing that the pure Númenorean blood of the royal house would be sullied and its span of years decreased. Indeed, Vidumavi was dead ere Valacar took the throne. Valacar died in year 1432 of the Third Age of Middle-earth._

_When Eldacar had reigned but five years, Castamir (who was thereafter called The Usurper), a descendant of King Calmacil and Captain of the Ships of Gondor, overthrew him and took the Kingship for himself. In the devastation of the revolution, Osgiliath was burned and its great Palantír lost in the Anduin._

_Within ten years, Eldacar had raised a vast army in the north and marched on Castamir. At the Crossings of Erui, Castamir was defeated and Eldacar restored to the throne._

Éowyn's fair countenance was troubled. "There was civil war, because the king did not marry into Númenorean blood?" She spoke faintly, as though talking to herself.

"Yes," replied Dior, as casually as he could.

"Will-" she hesitated, then dropped her noble air and spoke earnestly. "Will that happen if I become queen?"

Dior did not know how to answer, but decided that the truth was the best option. "It is possible," he said diplomatically. "There are some who question your fitness to be queen. Who question the suitability of a warrior queen. It is unlikely, but possible."

"And what do you think?"

"I'll admit that I doubted you at first – a girl you seemed by the king's side – but my faith grows with every passing lesson."

"Thank you, Dior," said Éowyn. Another worry for her. She thought of Aragorn. The people had faith in him. Perhaps when they realised Aragorn believed in her, they would follow suit.

"My lady!" A breathless messenger burst into the study. "There has been an accident."

Éowyn rose from her seat, fear in her face. "What has happened?"

"The wall - a section has collapsed. The men are trapped."

"How many?" asked Éowyn. Her voiced trembled.

"Twenty, ma'am. There is no chance of rescue, without killing them."

It was her fault. All her fault.


End file.
